


Cloudburst

by almostafantasia



Series: Down Came The Rain [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clexa Week 2018, Clexaweek2018, Day 7, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/F, Free day, Homeless Clarke, Private Schoolgirl Lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: Cloudburst – an unexpected heavy downpour of rain, usually brief but with devastating consequences.Long awaited sequel to Down Came The Rain.An unconventional friendship blooms into something stronger and Lexa prepares to navigate a web of lies so that her parents will approve of her rebellious new girlfriend. The two girls from opposite ends of the spectrum try to find a middle ground to become an ‘us’ and Lexa puts all of her efforts into trying to give Clarke a better life, only to neglect the storm brewing on the horizon of her own. And then comes the cloudburst…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel has been two and a half years in the making but I'm finally ready to start sharing it with the world. I strongly suggest that you read Down Came The Rain before you read this story to get some context.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lexa has always excelled at school. And not just excelled in a straight-A student, top of the class kind of way, but in the kind of way that means there is not a single one of her teachers who has not pulled her aside after class at least once to remind her that she could major in their subject at college if she so desired. Lexa’s academic success is something that she has always been proud of, a reminder that with the right combination of hard work and a colour-coded revision note system, she can achieve anything that she sets her mind to.

Today, however, schoolwork is the last thing she’s thinking about.

Lexa watches as the second hand makes another painfully slow circuit of the clock face that hangs above the board at the front of the classroom. Below the desk her knee bounces up and down in equal parts nerves and excitement. While sitting in what seems like one of the dullest math lessons ever at the end of another long day at school, it seems hard to believe that today is any different from every other day, but it is. Today could be one of the most important days of Lexa’s whole life.

Her heart thuds in her chest, more frequently than the ticking clock that Lexa cannot draw her eyes away from, but the way that the two beats counteract each other seems erratic and makes it hard for Lexa to focus on the regularity of either of them.

She imagines a familiar hand snaking its way across the desk, fingers trailing down her arm and then slipping between her own until the two hands are a knot of laced fingers. Her imagination (or perhaps it is her memory instead) is so vivid that she can almost feel a head leaning down to rest on her shoulder so that unruly blonde locks cascade in tandem with her own slightly tamer brunette ones, the mouth close to her ear whispering words of encouragement that everything is going to be okay. When it is Clarke who says those words, instead of the voice inside Lexa’s head, she almost believes them to be true.

Except that Clarke does not say those words, and Clarke’s hand is not joined with her own, nor is her head resting on Lexa’s shoulder, because this is math class and the only physical contact from the person beside Lexa comes in the form of Anya’s bony elbow gently nudging Lexa to get her attention.

“Lexa?”

Lexa plummets back into reality like a plane hurtling through the sky on a crash course to the ground, and the realisation that she is at school and not with Clarke does the same to her insides as being a passenger on that collision-bound plane would no doubt do.

The second hand continues to tick at an obnoxiously slow rate, flaunting the remaining minutes of class in Lexa’s face.

“I asked if you’ve done question three yet,” Anya says, and Lexa draws her eyes away from the clock to look at her best friend.

“Question three?” Lexa parrots back. Letting her eyes drop to the notebook on the desk in front of her is enough to tell her that she’s still midway through the first problem set by the teacher. “No, sorry.”

When Anya arches a questioning eyebrow, Lexa tries to muster up at least a little bit of shame at having been caught daydreaming when she should be working, but it’s fruitless. Two weeks ago she would have blushed furiously at even the prospect of her mind wandering in class. But today, nothing. Clarke’s influence, no doubt.

“What is up with you?” hisses Anya, glancing up at the front of the classroom to make sure that the teacher’s attention is elsewhere, then back to Lexa.

“Nothing,” Lexa is quick to answer, but she knows as well as Anya does that it’s a lie. She hasn’t even written today’s date at the top of her page, which in itself is enough of an indicator that her mind is straying elsewhere today.

Anya tuts softly and arches a brow as if to say  _yeah right_.

“Come on, Lexa. You’re never distracted like this. It’s like you’ve got a crush or something.”

Oh, of course  _now_  Lexa’s cheeks choose to betray her, flushing a delicate shade of pink that Anya picks up on immediately.

“You  _do_  have a crush!” she whispers as gleefully as it is possible for her to be without drawing their teacher’s attention. “So what’s his name?”

Stiffening slightly in her seat, Lexa swallows, and then answers, “She’s a girl, actually.”

Anya hesitates, eyes widening slightly, and when no immediate witty comeback is sent her way, Lexa briefly wonders whether it was wise to come out to her best friend in the middle of a final period math class on a Thursday afternoon. But this is  _Anya,_  who has been fluid about her own sexuality since she started showing an interest in anybody in seventh grade and Lexa knows that if she can trust anybody to not make a big deal out of this, it would be Anya.

“Oh,” says Anya, slightly stunned, but she recovers quickly and shoots back with a sly grin, “Is she hot?”

Lexa exhales in relief at Anya’s reaction and smiles. Digging her teeth into her lower lip, Lexa nods shyly.

“That’s my girl!” beams Anya.

Lexa’s cheeks tinge a rosy shade of pink first in pride at eliciting such approval from her best friend, and then in shame as Indra, who sits in the row behind them studiously working her way through question four, shushes them.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Anya promises, eyes bright with eager anticipation. “I want to know  _everything_.”

As much as Anya wants to know it all, and as much as Lexa is secretly kind of excited to divulge this new part of her life to her best friend, she also doesn’t think it’s important for Anya to know everything. Clarke’s home situation for example, or lack thereof, is probably too personal for Lexa to have the right to share it, and Lexa does not particularly want to tell Anya about the time that she had two puffs on a joint and then promptly threw up in Clarke’s friend’s kitchen before almost losing Clarke for good. A selective version of ‘everything’ is perhaps what it is best for Anya to hear.

* * *

Lexa expects an onslaught of questions the very second that the bell rings and the teacher dismisses them, but to her credit, Anya manages to wait until they arrive at their adjacent lockers before beginning the inevitable interrogation.

“So are you going to tell me about this mystery girl then? Do I know her? Does she go to this school?”

As she opens her locker and starts rummaging around inside, Lexa ponders Anya’s questions. There’s a slight chance that Anya will know _of_ Clarke, if she still remembers the gossip from their freshman year, but she’s pretty sure that the two won’t have met before.

“I don’t think so,” she answers. “And no.”

“So she’s an outsider? How do you know her?”

_An outsider_. Lexa almost laughs aloud because although Clarke is certainly one of those, she’s pretty certain that Anya’s definition of an outsider is very different to the reality.

“I met her at the bus stop,” Lexa replies, then quickly changes the subject when she notices how Anya is currently emptying the contents of her schoolbag into her locker. “Anya, what are you doing? We have math homework. How are you going to do it if you leave your textbook at school?”

“And there’s the Lexa I hate to love,” says Anya, with an accompanying roll of her eyes. “It’s not due until Monday. Besides, you’ll do it tonight and I’ll copy yours over the weekend.”

Lexa feels the heat rise to her cheeks once more as she says, “Actually, I’m busy tonight.”

Anya closes her locker and then leans against it, swinging her much lighter schoolbag over her shoulder once more.

“Shut up, you _never_ have plans.”

Feeling slightly affronted, Lexa lets out a huff of irritation and folds her arms across her chest as she follows Anya down the crowded hallway and through the nearest exit into the schoolyard.

“Well tonight I do, so homework can wait until tomorrow,” she answers slightly haughtily.

Anya is quick to catch on, and she turns to look at Lexa with her eyes alight with glee.

“Wait, you’re seeing _her_ tonight, aren’t you? Like as in a date or are you just pining over her from a distance?”

“Anya!” whinges Lexa. “I don’t pine.”

“You were definitely pining in math,” Anya says matter-of-factly. “Come on, Lexa, you never have crushes. Indulge me just this once, I want to know everything about her.”

They fall into step as they walk side by side down the path that leads between the main school building and the gymnasium, towards the front of the school and the parking lot.

“I don’t know,” shrugs Lexa, feeling shy under Anya’s unfamiliar interrogation. “She’s nice, she’s funny, she’s _really_ pretty…”

“Come on, Lex,” whines Anya. “If she wasn’t any of those things I’d be disappointed in your taste in women. Give me the proper details. What’s her name? How old is she? Does her star sign align with yours?”

“Her name is Clarke, she’s a year older than me, and she thinks astrology is a waste of time.”

Lexa smiles to herself as she thinks of Clarke’s blunt demeanour, her dry sense of humour and the realist attitude that make her just so incredibly _Clarke_. She’s only allowed a few seconds of content uninterrupted thoughts of her girlfriend before Anya’s elbow finds Lexa’s side again.

“Look at you grinning as you think about her,” she teases, and Lexa wordlessly protests, groaning and giving Anya a gentle shove in retaliation. Anya’s eyes light up suddenly and she suggests, “Maybe we should go out and celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” frowns Lexa.

“You getting your first proper crush. I feel like a proud big sister right now.”

“Anya!” pouts Lexa, folding her arms across her chest as she starts to sulk. “It’s not even a crush, anyway. She’s actually more of a girlfriend.”

“Damn right I am.”

Lexa’s heart soars as she hears the familiar voice, and it’s suddenly as if Anya is no longer there. She turns on the spot to see Clarke leaning against the school gates beside a couple of girls from the year above Lexa, presumably Clarke’s old friends from when she was a student here. Clarke saunters the couple of metres needed to close the gap and reaches for the lapel of Lexa’s school blazer, tugging her in close for a kiss.

Lexa has about half a second to feel self-conscious about the fact that Clarke is kissing her in the entrance to her school where every other student can see them as they pass through the gates and mill out onto the sidewalk of the main road, before Clarke’s mouth opens against hers and the swipe of tongue across Lexa’s upper lip is enough for her to forget her surroundings completely. Lexa’s hand claws into the soft material of Clarke’s worn t-shirt and she kisses back, wondering if she’ll ever tire of how amazing Clarke’s lips feel on her own.

“I hate to interrupt, but do you two have to eat each other’s faces in public?”

Coming to her senses, Lexa extracts herself from Clarke’s lip lock and turns back to Anya, blushing and avoiding eye contact with her best friend. Clarke’s arm snakes possessively around Lexa’s waist and her embarrassment at the realisation that half the school has probably just witnessed Clarke making out with her is overtaken by pride that Clarke is giving them no doubt that Lexa is hers.

“So this is the girl, huh?” Anya asks, giving Clarke an appraising look.

Lexa feels self-conscious for a brief moment, knowing that Clarke is probably not at all what Anya was expecting when Lexa told her that there was a girl, but she takes a proper look at Clarke for the first time herself and is impressed with how good she scrubs up when she makes an effort. Her t-shirt is one of her nicer ones, well-fitted and flattering, and the jeans are definitely new, void of the rips at the knees that Lexa is so used to. The leather jacket has been ditched too, though probably due to the warm weather, and Clarke has even done more with her hair than usual, a loose braid keeping the front section off her face. Lexa smiles warmly, knowing that Clarke has made this effort for her, and for their important night tonight.

“This is Clarke,” Lexa nods, and she feels Clarke’s fingers tighten around her waist.

Anya frowns, not saying anything, then realisation and recognition wash over her face.

“Wait, Clarke as in Clarke _Griffin_? Clarke Griffin who got expelled from this school?” exclaims Anya. She turns her attention to Lexa, a disapproving frown on her face, then says, “Lexa, you could have told me that you’re dating a drug dealer!”

Clarke relinquishes her grip on Lexa’s waist and takes a couple of steps towards Anya, extending her neck and lifting her head as she squares up to the taller girl.

“And you are?”

“Your worst nightmare,” snarls Anya. “I swear, if you so much as _think_ about hurting my girl Lexa, I’ll rip your ugly head off.”

Unfazed by the threat, Clarke simply smirks, “Am I supposed to be scared of you?”

“You are if you know what’s good for you. I could end you.”

Lexa intervenes before the situation gets any more out of hand, stepping up to Clarke’s side and loosely tangling her fingers with Clarke’s in solidarity.

“Clarke, this is my best friend Anya,” Lexa introduces, and then adds in a pleading tone, “Please try not to kill each other.”

Clarke considers Anya for a few seconds, then holds out the hand not holding Lexa’s. Anya’s eyes drop to the outstretched hand and she narrows her eyes, then shakes her head.

“You have to earn my trust, Griffin,” she says aloofly, then turns her attention to Lexa. “I’m going to leave now. I have a hot date with a bag of chips and a Netflix account that is going to be way more fun than watching you two slobber over each other. See you tomorrow, Lex.”

Anya hoists her bag up higher onto her shoulder and turns her back on the two of them, leaving through the school gates without another word.

“Well she’s a bit of a bitch,” says Clarke bluntly, as soon as Anya is out of earshot.

“Clarke!” hisses Lexa, elbowing her softly in the ribs. “She’s my best friend, please can you try to get along with her?”

“I _did_ try!” Clarke protests. “She was the one who refused the handshake! I hope meeting your parents isn’t going to be that bad.”

“You’ve already met my parents,” Lexa points out.

“Not as your girlfriend.”

A slow smile spreads across Lexa’s face and her fingers instinctively tighten around Clarke’s. The beef between Anya and Clarke is immediately forgotten as Lexa says, “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Girlfriend,” beams Lexa, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Clarke’s lips. “I like that.”

“Dork,” Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately, leading Lexa by the hand out through the school gates. “Come on, or we’ll miss the bus.”

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Lexa looks back on the first few times that she saw Clarke at the bus stop, before she knew Clarke’s name or her story or anything about her at all, and remembers how intimidated she used to be simply by the blonde’s presence, by her slouched figure and hostile frown. And then she looks at the girl beside her now, her _girlfriend_ , and wonders how she could ever have been intimidated by somebody as goddamn adorable as Clarke.

“What if they don’t like me?”

Their bodies are pressed close together on the double seat near the back of the bus and Clarke’s head rests on Lexa’s shoulder, her words mumbled into the soft skin where Lexa’s jawline meets her neck.

“That’s a stupid question,” Lexa replies, lifting one of her hands to Clarke’s head and running her fingertips absentmindedly through the strands of blonde hair that hang down across the shoulder of Lexa’s school blazer. “They already like you.”

“They don’t know me,” Clarke says uncertainly.

Lexa shuts down Clarke’s doubt without hesitation.

“But _I_ know you,” she reassures Clarke. “And I like you. I like you a _lot_ , actually.”

Clarke lifts her head from Lexa’s shoulder to look at her properly, a teasing smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Lexa lifts their intertwined hands from where they have been lying idle in Lexa’s lap for the whole journey and places tender kisses along Clarke’s knuckles.

“Too much,” she confesses, letting their hands drop back down onto their touching thighs, giving Clarke’s fingers an extra squeeze just for good measure.

(That’s another thing which Lexa finds just so unbelievably adorable about the previously intimidating blonde; the fact that she has refused to let Lexa’s hand slip out of her own since they passed out of Lexa’s school gates twenty minutes ago, as if she just can’t bear to let Lexa go even a second without being touched by Clarke in some way or another.)

“What if I mess up?” Clarke asks, her self-doubt continuing even despite Lexa’s reassurances. “What if I let something slip and they find out the truth and ban you from seeing me?”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Lexa tells Clarke, though it is a question that has crossed her own mind on more than one occasion in the last couple of days. “They love me and they want me to be happy. _You_ make me happy.”

“But what if…”

“Clarke.”

Clarke silences immediately and looks across at Lexa with wide eyes and a solemn expression.

“Clarke, my mom adores you already. You should have seen her face when I asked if you could come to dinner. And if it doesn’t go to plan then I’m sure she’ll like you just the same. She’ll understand, I’m sure of it, if we have to tell her everything.”

Clarke nods slowly and then visibly relaxes, and as she rests her head down on Lexa’s shoulder once more, Lexa knows that Clarke’s moment of vulnerability has passed.

“Of course they’ll like me,” Clarke says, her usual cockiness returned. “Who wouldn’t? I’m a fucking delight.”

* * *

 

“Oh wow.”

Lexa almost gets a feeling of déjà vu from watching Clarke cross the threshold into the large open hallway of her house, her head tilted back and her mouth open as she gapes around as just how excessively fancy everything is. Except no longer is Clarke a complete stranger, and instead of worrying that perhaps Clarke might steal all her valuables and make a run for it, Lexa merely gives Clarke a rough prod in the back with her index finger.

“Stop it, Clarke,” she chides her girlfriend. “You’ve been here before. You don’t need to pretend to be impressed by my house every time you visit.”

Clarke turns around and smirks at Lexa, kicking off her battered combat boots near the front door and taking a couple of sauntering steps backwards into the house.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself,” she teases. “I’d forgotten just how big that chandelier actually is. My memory didn’t do it any justice at all.”

Rolling her eyes, Lexa quips back, “If you think the chandelier is big, you should see my trust fund.”

Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand and tangles their fingers together, dragging her across the hallway to the bottom of the big staircase that leads up to the second floor, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Shut up and show me to your bedroom so I can make out with you on your bed.”

* * *

 

Lexa is surprisingly self-conscious as she pushes open the door to her own bedroom. It’s odd really, because she’s mostly stopped feeling so aware of her own wealth around Clarke now that they are getting increasingly comfortable with each other, and Clarke has been to her house before so of course she knows to expect how big it is, but Lexa finds herself feeling incredibly vulnerable nonetheless as she watches the girl she cares about so much walk into her own personal haven. And it’s perhaps the knowledge that Clarke doesn’t have a bedroom of her own, let alone the vast queen sized bed that Lexa sleeps in, or maybe just the fact that a childhood bedroom filled to the brim with clutter that contains thousands upon thousands of memories from her past seems like such an intrinsically personal place, but Lexa holds her breath subconsciously as Clarke steps into the room and gazes around for the first time.

“Oh my god, shut _up_!”

Lexa panics momentarily at Clarke’s outburst, her eyes widening as she hastens to find out what has provoked such a reaction, and she watches as her girlfriend crosses the room to her dresser and picks up one of the many photograph frames that stand on top of it. Clarke squints at it for a few seconds, then lets her head fall back in laughter, brandishing the photo in Lexa’s direction.

“No way is this you!” she cackles gleefully.

Lexa steps closer to check which photograph has Clarke in such hysterics, and then she immediately blushes when she recognises the picture of herself at seven years old, round-faced and dimpled and dressed in a baby pink leotard with a matching frilly tutu.

“Put it down, Clarke,” she whines, attempting to snatch the frame from Clarke’s hand, though Clarke is too quick for her and holds it out of Lexa’s reach. “It’s not that funny.”

“Babe, it’s _hilarious_. Hold on a second…”

Clarke fumbles around in the pocket of her jeans and pulls out her cell phone, a battered old smart phone with a cracked screen that Lexa is fairly certain used to belong to Bellamy before he got an upgrade, opening up the camera app and pointing it at the framed photo of young Lexa.

“No! What are you doing?” Lexa protests, reaching for the photograph once more, even though she knows that Clarke is strong enough to hold her off.

“Blackmail material,” Clarke giggles, snapping a few pictures of the photo before finally conceding and letting Lexa take the frame from between her fingertips. She looks at the pictures on the screen of her phone now that she no longer has access to the original. “Also this is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Please tell me there are more?”

Lexa’s eyes flash quickly across the other photos that sit atop the dresser. Thankfully none of the others are as embarrassing as the one that caught Clarke’s eye; just an official school photograph from middle school, one of her with her grandparents at the beach when she was twelve, and one of her with her arms around Anya and Indra taken last summer.

“My mom has the rest,” Lexa tells Clarke, setting the frame containing the photo of her in a tutu back on top of the dresser. Clarke’s eyes light up and Lexa continues before the blonde can say anything, “Don’t you _dare_ ask her to see them. She would enjoy that as much as you would.”

Clarke looks momentarily disappointed, then her eyes glint with mischief as she says, “Next time.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lexa drops her school satchel into the floor at the foot of her bed, watching Clarke carefully out of the corner of her eye as the blonde wanders around Lexa’s room, waiting to pounce once more if Clarke discovers anything else embarrassing.

“You have so many books,” Clarke observes, running her fingertips along the worn spines of many of Lexa’s childhood favourites that line the shelves of the enormous bookshelf in the corner.

“You can borrow some if you like,” Lexa suggests. “I can recommend some good ones.”

Clarke gives Lexa a look over her shoulder, as if to say _reading is for losers_ , but then she notices one particular volume on the shelf, letting out a cry of delight as she extracts it from the others.

“Oh my god, _Alice in Wonderland_!” Clarke lets the book fall open in her hands, admiring the colour illustrations as she flips through the pages. “I used to have this exact edition! Dad used to read it to me before bed when I was really little.”

The smile that crosses Clarke’s face as she fondly remembers her own childhood memories sends a warmth rushing through Lexa’s own body, and she walks over to Clarke, resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder as she wraps one arm around Clarke’s waist from behind.

“You can borrow it,” Lexa insists.

Her earlier disapproval of borrowing books from Lexa gone, Clarke turns her head enough to brush her nose against Lexa’s cheek and says, “Can I?”

“Of course,” Lexa nods.

Clarke beams happily and closes the book, tucking it under her arm as she extracts herself from Lexa’s embrace to continue her exploration of the bedroom. She pauses at a couple more photographs pinned to the wall above Lexa’s desk, these ones just pictures of Lexa and various friends throughout the years, then moves onto the corner of the room where Lexa’s cello case stands upright next to a rusty silver music stand. Her fingertips dance across the top of the case, then Clarke reaches out for the book of music open on the stand.

“This looks hard,” she comments.

Lexa shrugs modestly, though the page in question is a particularly tricky study that Lexa’s cello teacher has challenged her with, the page almost more black than it is white.

“It’s not that bad.”

Looking up at Lexa knowingly, Clarke says, “Oh not for _you_ , probably because you’re so talented.”

Lexa blushes, not entirely sure what to say in response to that.

“Will you play for me?” asks Clarke, digging her teeth into her lower lip and looking at Lexa with an expression that she knows Lexa finds it really hard to say no to.

“Clarke…”

“Please?”

Lexa sighs, pausing for thought in an attempt to weigh up the two options. She likes that Clarke is so encouraging and enthusiastic to hear her play, but on the other hand she always gets shy when performing in front of others, particularly in a one on one situation. _Especially_ in a one on one situation with somebody that she really cares about and values the opinion of.

“Maybe another time,” she answers.

Clarke tries her best not to look disappointed, though Lexa can see right through her. Her little pouty lips are almost enough for Lexa to change her mind and go out of her comfort zone so that Clarke can get what she wants, but before Lexa can concede defeat, Clarke seems to get another idea, stepping into Lexa’s personal space and reaching out for her hips with both hands.

“Oh, is there something else you would rather be doing right now?”

Lexa blushes as Clarke raises a suggestive eyebrow, and then mumbles, “Maybe…”

Clarke’s hands slide up from Lexa’s hips to smooth up her sides beneath Lexa’s school blazer.

“Are you not hot in this?”

Leaning her forehead against Clarke’s so that she has to go cross-eyed to maintain eye contact with the other girl, Lexa blurts out, “ _You’re_ hot.”

Clarke laughs, then pecks Lexa’s quickly on the lips as she pushes the heavy blazer off Lexa’s shoulders so that it drops into a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Smooth talking, Casanova. Now can I make out with you yet or what?”

Lexa ducks out from Clarke’s arms and starts to loosen the school tie around her neck.

“Just a minute,” she excuses herself. “I need to hang my uniform up or it’ll crease.”

Clarke collapses back onto Lexa’s enormous bed with a snort, shuffling up the mattress until she is settled comfortably into the pile of soft pillows and cushions at the headboard, her eyes closed in content.

“You are such a _nerd_ ,” she states matter-of-factly.

Opening the middle drawer of her dresser, Lexa pulls out a pair of jeans and a comfy t-shirt, and starts to get changed out of her school uniform.

“Yes, but I’m _your_ nerd.”

Clarke opens one eye lazily, then the other when she realises that Lexa is half-naked, sending an appreciative gaze down her bare legs that has Lexa blushing more than ever before.

“Damn right you are.”

* * *

 

“Lexa?”

She reluctantly detaches her lips from Clarke’s as the front door slams shut and her mother’s voice floats up the stairs, withdrawing her arm from where it has been slung loosely around the back of Clarke’s neck. As she pulls away, Clarke chases her lips with another kiss, only for them to meet Lexa’s cheek as she turns her head away.

“My mom is home from work,” she explains.

“Just one more kiss?” pouts Clarke.

It’s difficult to say no, but Lexa knows that she must because she _knows_ Clarke and one more kiss actually means two more kisses, which then means three or four more kisses, and then another full on makeout session. Which of course sounds like heaven, but the last thing that Lexa needs right now is for her mom to come upstairs to investigate her daughter’s silence, only to find them kissing on Lexa’s bed, legs tangled together at one end of the bed and hair splayed across the pillows at the other end in a combined mess of contrasting blonde and brunette.

“Later,” Lexa promises, giving Clarke a quick peck on the lips before clambering off the bed and starting to straighten her hair and clothes. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” replies Clarke.

It’s one of those rare moments of sincerity where Clarke drops the bad girl façade, drops all the flirtatious teasing and shows her gentler side. Clarke looks up at her with pure adoration in her eyes and the knowledge that she means what she says sends a blush to Lexa’s cheeks.

“Come here,” Lexa beckons, and Clarke does as instructed, getting to her feet and walking over to stand in front of Lexa. Running her fingers through the tangles in Clarke’s tousled hair, Lexa says, “You can’t meet my mom like this.”

“I’ve already met her, remember?” Clarke reminds her, playfully poking Lexa just below her ribs. “She already likes me.”

“Then let’s not give her a reason to stop liking you.”

Lexa takes a couple of steps back to admire her handiwork and nods in satisfaction.

“You don’t clean up too badly at all,” she muses.

“Is that your way of saying that I look hot?”

Lexa blushes, as she seems to always be doing in Clarke’s company, and doesn’t protest when Clarke’s hands seek out her hips once more. Clarke pulls their bodies flush together and Lexa rests her hands on Clarke’s shoulders.

“I guess so,” Lexa mumbles shyly.

“You’re hotter,” says Clarke, right before she swoops in for another kiss.

Lexa doesn’t protest, even though she knows that she should, because there’s just something about kissing Clarke that makes it something she would quite happily give up everything else in the world for. It’s so easy to lose herself in the feeling of Clarke’s lips moving slowly against her own, to forget that there is a whole world outside of Clarke’s fingers digging into her hips and her mouth gently coaxing Lexa’s open. She could actually do this forever, lazy kissing with no real purpose other than to show Clarke how much she means to Lexa.

“Lexa?”

Lexa jumps back at the sound of her mother’s voice calling up the stairs once more, putting a respectable distance between herself and Clarke and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“On my way!” she shouts through the open bedroom door, before she turns to Clarke again and says in a much softer voice, “You coming?”

Arching an eyebrow at Lexa, Clarke responds, “Do you seriously think I’d miss out on a chance to kiss your mom’s ass again?”

“Clarke!” Lexa hisses as she steps outside of her bedroom and onto the landing, the blonde following close behind her.

“Let’s be honest,” says Clarke, “we both know that your mom loves me more than she loves you.”

Not wanting to admit that there’s actually rather a lot of truth in Clarke’s statement, for Lexa’s mom finds a way to ask her how Clarke is at least every other day, Lexa just shakes her head disapprovingly and says, “Remind me why I like you again?”

“Because of my charming personality and my incredible looks,” Clarke boasts without hesitation, before adding mischievously, “Well, either that or my boobs.”

Lexa’s mouth drops open in outrage as Clarke grins unashamedly at her, and she elbows Clarke roughly in the arm to tell her to behave herself right before they can reach the top of the staircase and come into view of Lexa’s mother who stands at the bottom.

“Hey mom.”

“Hello Lexa,” her mom says, before her eyes fall onto Clarke and widen in delight. With much more enthusiasm than she greeted Lexa, she continues, “Oh, hello Clarke! It’s so good to see you again!”

Clarke lets out a little snigger as if to say _I told you so_ , so soft that only Lexa can hear it, and then in her most polite voice, she says, “Hello Mrs Woods! Thank you so much for inviting me for dinner.”

“That’s not a problem at all. I’ve been saying to Lexa ever since we met you at her concert that she should invite you over.”

Clarke beams, and then says, “You have a lovely home. I was telling Lexa earlier how much I love the chandelier.”

“Oh yes, it’s quite wonderful isn’t it!” Returning her attention to Lexa, her mom continues, “Your dad will be home in about forty-five minutes, Lexa. Dinner should be ready soon after.”

“Cool,” nods Lexa. “Well, Clarke and I have homework that we need to be getting on with so…”

“Of course,” Lexa’s mom nods understandingly. “I’ll see you girls later.”

“See you later, Mrs Woods!” calls out Clarke, as Lexa places a hand on the small of her back and starts to guide her away from where she can continue to make Lexa’s mom smile and blush in delight.

Following Clarke back to the bedroom, Lexa growls under her breath, “If she installs a chandelier in every room of this house, I am holding you one hundred percent accountable.”

* * *

 

Lexa does at least attempt to do her homework. She sits at the desk by the window in her room, textbooks spread out in front of her in an attempt to do some last minute revision for a test that her history teacher has set for the next morning, but Clarke proves to be rather a big distraction. She’s not doing it intentionally, Lexa knows that much, but since the blonde asked if she could use Lexa’s laptop twenty minutes ago and then declared herself to be an unofficial DJ, sitting cross-legged on Lexa’s bed as she scrolls through YouTube to provide them both with an eclectic playlist of music, Lexa has been finding it rather difficult to focus on her work at all.

When she looks up at Clarke for the fourth time in a minute, a smile on her face as she watches Clarke sing along to a cheesy hit that was probably in the charts when Lexa was about six or seven, Clarke notices her staring and raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” shrugs Lexa. “You’re cute that’s all.”

As if she’s trying to reinforce Lexa’s point even further, Clarke just smiles and starts wiggling her head and shoulders around in time with the music, and Lexa wonders how she managed to get so lucky to be able to call this girl hers.

“Do you have any paper?” Clarke asks, when the song ends and the contrasting thrum of guitar that opens the next song drifts from the speakers of Lexa’s laptop. “And, like, a pencil or something? Or a pen, I don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Lexa replies, taking a couple of sheets of plain paper out of the tray of the printer on her desk, along with a pencil, and leaning back in her chair so that she can reach over to drop them on the end of the bed. “What do you want them for?”

“I want to draw you.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at this, and then she immediately starts protesting.

“Do you have to? My hair doesn’t look very good today and…”

“Stop it,” Clarke interrupts her with a shake of her head. “You look fine. And it’ll be a nice picture, I promise.”

Lexa frowns and digs her teeth into her lower lip, then finally concedes reluctantly.

“Fine. But it had better be flattering.”

“Babe, you’ve never seen me draw before. Trust me, I’m _good_.”

There’s a rush of affection that comes over Lexa when she hears Clarke call her _babe_ without a second thought, and it takes a lot of willpower for Lexa to remain where she is seated, instead of crossing the bedroom and smothering Clarke in kisses.

“Okay,” Lexa agrees. “How do you want me?”

Clarke doesn’t answer, but instead raises a single eyebrow in her direction. It takes Lexa a few seconds to pick up on the accidental innuendo.

“Oh, stop it,” she scolds Clarke, rolling her eyes. “I meant how do you want to draw me?”

“I know what you meant,” Clarke smirks in amusement. She gestures to Lexa’s books spread out across the desk. “Just carry on with what you were doing. Be natural.”

* * *

 

“So how was school today, girls?”

Lexa draws back the chair at her usual spot at the dining table and gestures for Clarke to take the empty seat opposite her, then answers, “It was fine.”

“Math dragged though, didn’t it?” Clarke adds as she sits down and takes a sip from her glass of water, and Lexa recognises the exact words she used to Clarke earlier when she asked Lexa about her day at the bus stop.

“I thought you like math, Lexa,” Lexa’s mom frowns as she brings over a steaming dish of vegetables and sets it down in the centre of the table.

Clarke’s eyes widen as she realises that she might have dropped Lexa into a sticky situation, but Lexa is quick to intervene.

“Not when they timetable it for last period on a Thursday,” she explains. “I thought the day was never going to end. And the classroom was so hot!”

Lexa’s mother finally takes her seat at the table, indicating that they can start eating.

“Please, Clarke, help yourself to food.”

Lexa watches, half in amusement and half in pity, as Clarke tries not to seem too eager at filling her plate with food. She realises that Clarke might be about to eat her best meal in years, knowing that the closest she gets to a home-cooked meal is eating the leftovers of Bellamy and Raven’s attempts at student-style cooking, which probably can’t really be described as nutritious at all, from what Lexa has heard. But the way that Clarke glances anxiously up at Lexa’s parents before helping herself to a third potato, even though Lexa already has four on her own plate, makes Lexa determined to make sure that Clarke is invited here for a proper meal at least once a week from now on.

Of course, before she can make Clarke’s visits a regular occurrence, there is the small matter than has been nagging at the back of Lexa’s mind all day, the main reason that her mind was a million miles away in class this afternoon, that must be dealt with.

“Mom, Dad, there’s actually something that I wanted to tell you tonight,” Lexa ventures nervously, and she immediately feels her heart pick up to pound in her chest at twice the speed it was going before. “And, um … that is that Clarke isn’t just a friend, but she’s also my girlfriend.” When nobody around the table says anything for a couple of seconds, Lexa clarifies by adding, “We’re dating.”

Lexa’s eyes flicker expectantly between her father to her left and her mother to the right, waiting upon a response from either of them. Her father’s brow tenses into a stern frown as he processes his daughter’s words, and her mom stays frozen to the spot for long moments, her eyes wide and her outstretched arm held out in midair with the serving spoon for the vegetables clutched between her fingers. Clarke, meanwhile, starts turning a light shade of pink as she realises exactly what Lexa has just done.

When there is no immediate response, Lexa panics, and wonders whether she will live to regret the attempt to casually come out to her parents at the dinner table with her girlfriend also present, and she opens her mouth to say something else, but before she can get any words out, Lexa’s mother finally finds her tongue again.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Lexa.” Her voice a little different to before, a little shakier, perhaps due to the shock, but she shoots a smile in Lexa’s direction, then gives Lexa’s father a pointed look across the table. “Isn’t it, darling?”

Lexa’s dad coughs lightly to clear his throat, then nods his head slowly, still very deep in thought. After a few more seconds, he turns to look at Clarke, whose cheeks are now closer to a rosy red colour, and addresses her.

“You know,” he starts, his voice gruff and serious, “when I pictured my daughter bringing somebody home for the first time, I imagined it would be some boy from the local high school, twice her size and even taller than me. I thought that I would have to ask him to step into my office after dinner and warn him that if he hurts my little girl, I’d make his life hell.”

Clarke’s eyes widen in terror, her knuckles going white as she grips the cutlery in her hand like a vice.

After a pause, Lexa’s dad continues, “I have to admit, Clarke, the reality is much nicer than the expectation. I’m glad that Lexa has chosen you, of all people, as the person she wants to be with.”

Clarke relaxes visibly, and Lexa feels her own anxiety deflate like a balloon being popped with a pin.

“Thank you, sir,” Clarke manages to say.

“Of course,” Lexa’s father adds ominously, “the warning still stands. If you hurt her…”

“Charles!” Lexa’s mom squeaks from the other end of the table.

“I won’t hurt her,” Clarke assures him. “I promise.”

Lexa’s dad nods, then places his knife down on the table so that he can extend his right hand to Clarke.

“Then welcome to the family, Clarke,” he says, as Clarke drops her own cutlery to shake his hand firmly. “I hope that Lexa makes you as happy as you make her.”

“She does,” Clarke nods almost too enthusiastically, and Lexa smiles a little bit to herself at how the usually collected blonde jumps at the chance to impress Lexa’s parents. “Lexa is the best thing to ever happen to me. She makes me a better person than I ever thought possible. I can only hope that I do the same for her.”

“You do,” Lexa reassures her, which earns her a smile from Clarke.

And Lexa is pretty certain that she’s never meant anything more in her life than those two words.

* * *

 

They retreat back up to Lexa’s room after dinner, running up the stairs two at a time and promising Lexa’s parents that they’ll keep the bedroom door open. Clarke sprawls across the bed as if it’s her own, closing her eyes and letting out a content sigh, and Lexa makes another mental note to try and negotiate with her parents to allow Clarke to sleep over occasionally, because even if her parents force Clarke to spend the night in a guest bedroom instead of sharing Lexa’s bed, it would probably be better for Clarke than another night on a mattress on the floor at the homeless shelter or on Bellamy’s couch.

Lexa pushes her bedroom door closed slightly, leaving it far enough ajar to appease her parents if they come looking, then drops back into her chair at her desk.

“You didn’t tell me that you hadn’t come out to them,” Clarke’s voice drifts up from where her head is buried amongst the pillows.

“I didn’t tell you that I had either.”

Reluctantly pushing herself up onto her elbows, Clarke looks at Lexa and says, “Well yeah, but it would have been nice to warn me that you were going to spring a double whammy of surprises on them.”

“Does it matter?” shrugs Lexa. “I thought they took it well.”

Clarke makes a grumble of agreement, then flops back down onto the mattress, her eyes closed but a little crease in the centre of her forehead between her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks.

“Nothing is wrong.”

Stalking over to the bed, Lexa climbs up onto the mattress and sits cross-legged beside where Clarke lies, reaching out to take Clarke’s hand in her own.

“Clarke…”

Clarke’s eyes open once more but she doesn’t look at Lexa, instead keeping her hardened gaze firmly on a spot on the ceiling high above her.

“It’s just that thing your dad said,” Clarke mumbles bitterly. “You know, when he said that he’d always expected you to bring home some guy from the local school that he’d probably disapprove of. And well, I’m not a boy, but…”

“Oh, Clarke,” Lexa sighs, squeezing her girlfriend’s fingers sympathetically when she understands why Clarke is upset. “He meant nothing by that comment, only that he likes you more than he would like any guy I could possibly bring home.”

“But I’m still from the local high school,” Clarke says dejectedly. “I’m not good enough for you.”

“Hey,” Lexa says, lying herself down on the bed next to Clarke and tucking herself into Clarke’s side. She rests her head on Clarke’s shoulder and lays her arm across the blonde’s stomach, her fingers finding the bit of exposed skin between Clarke’s t-shirt and the waistband of her jeans. “You’re way too good for me. You have no idea how lucky I feel to be the one that you’re choosing to be with.”

“How I feel about you isn’t a choice,” Clarke says softly, reaching up with one of her hands to play with Lexa’s hair. “I just want what is best for you and if that’s not me then…”

“You have no idea how stupid what you’re saying sounds,” Lexa cuts Clarke off. “Of course you’re what’s best for me. I don’t care what my parents think about you. If they learn the truth and tell me that they don’t like me dating you, then I don’t care. Obviously I want their approval, but I won’t let them tell me who I can or can’t date. I want to be with you, Clarke, and I would want to be with you no matter where you go to school or whatever your circumstances.”

She feels Clarke pull her in just a little bit closer and responds in kind, tightening her hand on Clarke’s hip and nuzzling her face into the soft pile of hair across Clarke’s neck and shoulder.

It’s the first time that Lexa asks herself whether she’s in love with Clarke, and when her heart starts beating just a little bit faster in her chest, she doesn’t know if it’s in fear or excitement.

* * *

 

The day after Clarke’s visit to Lexa’s house, the two girls sit at opposite ends of the couch in Raven and Bellamy’s apartment, not really paying any attention to the reality show playing on the small television in the corner. They wrestle childishly with their feet, soles pushed against each other as they fight for the space in the middle of the couch, Lexa winning on strength but Clarke’s typical mischievous cunning making them almost evenly matched.

And that’s how Raven finds them when she gets home from work, her face a little sweaty and the top half of her mechanic overalls tied around her waist, a smudge of engine oil on her cheek.

“You two are disgustingly gross,” she comments, as she flops down in the battered armchair on the other side of the room.

“You’re just jealous of how awesome we are,” Clarke retorts, drawing the cushion out from behind her back and using it to swat at Lexa’s socked feet.

“Oh yeah,” Raven rolls her eyes, “that’s _exactly_ what it is. Lexa’s parents didn’t scare you off then, Clarke?”

“Lexa’s parents _love_ me, don’t they babe?” Clarke responds, giving Lexa’s thigh a particularly sharp jab with her big toe.

“Ow, don’t do that! You’ll give me a bruise!” Lexa complains, rubbing the sore spot as Clarke extends her legs triumphantly in the middle of the couch. She looks up at Raven and then confirms, “Yes, they approve of Clarke.”

“Lexa’s parents are total babes,” Clarke adds. “I think they like me more than they like her.”

Raven quirks a single eyebrow, then asks, “Sorry, are we talking about the same Clarke? Because I fail to see how anybody would like you more than Lexa.”

Lexa grins across at Raven, then extends her legs out and rests them on top of Clarke’s, which of course has the blonde wriggling and fighting for her own legroom once more.

“Fuck off, Raven. I’m charming and loveable.”

“Hmm, that’s debatable,” Lexa interjects teasingly.

Clarke’s mouth drops open in shock, and after a few seconds of gaping at Lexa’s bold outburst, she withdraws her legs and rotates her body so that she’s sitting on the couch normally. She takes the cushion that she had previously been using to swat at Lexa’s legs and hugs it tight to her stomach, looking affronted.

“ _You’re_ supposed to be on my side,” she tells Lexa. “I don’t like you anymore.”

“It’s okay, Lexa,” Raven says gleefully from across the room. “You can have me instead.”

Lexa sends Clarke a mischievous grin, then responds to Raven, “Fantastic. The only reason I’m actually with Clarke is to get closer to you.”

Clarke puts the cushion down and shuffles along the couch, pouting as she wraps two strong arms around Lexa in a tight embrace. Resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder, she says, “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it. You’re my favourite. Please don’t leave me for Raven.”

Raven, who is clearly getting far too much enjoyment from the situation, quips back, “Don’t listen to her, Lexa. She used to tell me that I was her favourite too.”

They are interrupted by Bellamy’s entrance to the room, a large bowl of nachos laden with toppings in each hand. He holds out the first bowl to Lexa, who takes it and places it on her lap, then puts the second one down on the coffee table between Raven and the empty chair that he settles himself into.

“Okay, I take it back,” says Clarke, sitting up straight and reaching out to the dish on Lexa’s thighs to help herself to food. “Bellamy is my favourite.”

“And mine,” agrees Lexa.

Raven grumbles for a second, even as she takes her own first bite of the food, then adds, “Yeah, I guess you’re alright, Blake.”

“Wow ladies,” responds Bellamy. “Form an orderly line. I’m not used to so much female attention.”

Raven almost chokes on her food, and she splutters, “I’m sorry, but _who_ was it that I had to make breakfast for the other day when you were in the shower?”

Clarke sits up attentively when she hears this, her eyes wide in glee.

“Wait, is Bellamy getting laid?”

Raven nods smugly, then continues, “And wait ‘til you hear the best part, Clarke.”

“Raven…” Bellamy warns his roommate, blushing red and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“There were _two_ of them,” Raven finishes triumphantly, before stuffing her mouth with a tortilla chip laden with melted cheese, ground beef and salsa.

“Bell had a threesome?” gasps Clarke, her mouth gaping open slightly as her eyes flicker between Raven, who is nodding smugly, and Bellamy, who looks like he’d quite happily blend in with the chair he sits on.

“Can we please not talk about my sex life?” Bellamy whines.

“Are you kidding me?” Raven snorts. “This is the first time in months you actually _have_ a sex life and you expect me to not talk about it?”

“As long as my sister doesn’t find out. She already thinks I’m an ass.”

“I’m not going to tell her,” Raven promises. “I am a little offended though, Blake. Two women in your bed at once and still neither of them is me. When will you realise that I’m the one for you?”

“Maybe when hell freezes over?”

“Oh fantastic, I’ll give Satan a call and see what he can do. I have him on speed-dial, you know.”

As Raven and Bellamy continue to bicker back and forth over their shared bowl of nachos, Lexa turns her attention to Clarke.

“So those two definitely aren’t actually a thing?” she asks softly.

“Oh god no,” replies Clarke. “They barely cope with living together. I’m pretty sure the entire apartment building would go up in flames if they started sleeping together. Or worse, _dating_.”

Lexa nods understandingly, watching in mild amusement as the playful squabbling across the room turns into an argument over whose fault the dollop of salsa on the floor is.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, nudging Lexa with her elbow to get her attention again, “I have some exciting news to tell you. I applied to a summer art program and they’ve offered me a place.”

As a grin spreads across Clarke’s face, the contagious excitement spreads to Lexa too, and she reaches out with the hands not covered in grease from the nachos to give Clarke’s knee an encouraging squeeze.

“Wow, that’s amazing news!”

“Yeah,” nods Clarke, “it’s just a two week thing but it should give me the chance to put together a good portfolio and then in the fall I can start thinking about applying to art school for next year. If it’s good enough, I could even apply for scholarships to help with the funding. I’m going to speak to the school principal on Monday to talk about redoing my whole senior year so that I can actually graduate next summer.”

“That’s great,” Lexa tells Clarke truthfully. “I’m so proud of you.”

Raven’s ears perk up at their conversation, and she contributes, “You’re voluntarily putting yourself through another year of high school?”

“I’m not going to get a high enough GPA to get into college this year.”

Raven continues, “You do realise that you’ll actually have to go to class if you want to graduate?”

Clarke shrugs, then retorts, “Says you.”

“Yes, but I’m a genius,” Raven grins.

Bellamy shakes his head in the corner, before interjecting, “And modest too.”

Leaning in to press a kiss to Clarke’s cheek, Lexa says tenderly, “Don’t listen to Raven. I know you’re going to graduate next year and get into a really good art school and I’m already so proud of you.”

The pretty little flush on Clarke’s cheek and the shy smile that crosses her lips are just two of the many things that make Lexa’s life so worthwhile when she’s with Clarke.

* * *

 

She feels Clarke’s presence before she sees her, before even the shadow cast by her approaching girlfriend falls over the cracked paving stones at her feet where her gaze lies.

“Hey stranger.”

Clarke’s fingers reach out for Lexa’s hand, not to tangle together like they sometimes do, but instead just to brush the backs of her fingers against Lexa’s wrist as if to say _I’m here_.

Lexa says nothing, she doesn’t _need_ to say anything, but instead smiles at the warmth of Clarke’s body pressing into her side as the blonde settles down on the wall next to Lexa at the bus stop, enjoying the two minutes of shared bliss they have before Clarke’s bus arrives.

It’s a perfect moment, and Lexa doesn’t think she’s ever been happier.


	2. Chapter 2

They’ve been together for three and a half weeks now and Lexa wonders if she’ll ever tire of kissing Clarke.

Nothing could have ever prepared Lexa for just how soft Clarke is. Not just her soft lips moving leisurely against Lexa’s, or her soft hair between Lexa’s fingers, or the soft curves of her body melting into Lexa’s as they lie almost on top of each other on Lexa’s bed, but how soft she is in the way she makes out with Lexa, never pushing for more, as if she is content to just kiss Lexa for the rest of eternity.

Which of course, Lexa is more than happy with.

Except that sometimes, she wonders what it would be like to push Clarke down onto the bed and kiss her senseless, before stripping them both of all clothing and having her wicked way.

But Lexa doesn’t think she has the kind of bravery in her that she needs to go through with that idea at all. She doesn’t think that she has a wicked way.

It’s not that Lexa doesn’t want to, in fact quite the opposite. Despite never really considering herself as a particularly sexual person – she always thought that sex would be one of those things that she’d do more to please a partner than because she had a deep desire to do it herself – she’s really quite into the idea of getting intimate with Clarke. So into the idea, in fact, that she’s probably touched herself more in the last three and a half weeks than she has in the previous almost seventeen years, and imagining that it is Clarke’s hand bringing her to climax instead of her own sends her over the edge far quicker than she’d like to admit.

The problem is that beyond her own imagination, Lexa worries that she has very little idea of what to actually do when it comes to sex. She has limited knowledge of what to do with regards to any physical aspect of her relationship with Clarke, and everything that she’s done so far has been on pure instinct alone (a small part of her brain tries to reassure her that if instinct has gotten her this far, then why shouldn’t it be able to take her all the way?), but she feels wave after wave of anxiety course through her body every time she thinks about taking it to the next step with her girlfriend.

She’s not scared of sex, she’s scared of her own incompetence compared to Clarke, who has almost certainly progressed further than making out with people before. They’ve never really discussed it, but Lexa’s heard Clarke talking about an ex-boyfriend before (some guy called Finn than she and Raven seem to hold in equal contempt) and Lexa assumes that she probably did at least something with him. Besides, Lexa thinks that Clarke doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be shy about her own sex life, whether that’s with boys or girls or both.

Regardless of Clarke’s sexual history, the fact remains that it would be very difficult for Clarke to have _less_ experience than Lexa, who had never so much as kissed another person before she met Clarke, and so while the idea of pushing things further is a very appealing one, it also terrifies Lexa to the core that she somehow won’t be good enough to meet Clarke’s expectations.

And yet the soft little noises of contentment that escape Clarke’s lips between kisses make Lexa want to move things along to the next level even more.

She detaches her lips from Clarke’s, pulling a disappointed little whine from Clarke, who tries to chase after another kiss. She relaxes again though, when Lexa’s lips touch her cheek and start trailing a path along the sharp plane of Clarke’s jaw, and a hand buries itself in Lexa’s curls to keep her mouth in place, letting out another gasp of pleasure as Lexa’s lips meet the skin of her neck.

With all the noises that Clarke is making, Lexa is glad that neither of her parents are home from work yet.

It spurs her on and she gets an idea in her head, a bold idea that makes her blush slightly just thinking about it, but thankfully Clarke’s eyes are blissfully closed and the pink tinge to her cheeks goes unnoticed. Pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to Clarke’s neck, she decides to incorporate her teeth, giving a soft little nip that elicits another gasp, at the same time as she manoeuvres their positions on the bed until Clarke is lying fully on her back on the mattress.

Lexa swings one of her legs over Clarke’s hips to straddle the blonde’s thighs, reaching up to sweep her long hair out of her face with nimble fingers. Clarke’s eyes blink open, pupils dark and her eyelids heavy with what Lexa thinks might be lust, and she raises a single eyebrow at Lexa’s sudden display of assertiveness.

“So that’s how you’re playing this game, huh?” Clarke teases her, her hands seeking out Lexa’s hips, while her fingertips dance beneath the hem of Lexa’s top and brush the bare skin she finds just above the waistband of Lexa’s jeans.

Hoping that she comes across as way more confident than she feels, Lexa replies, “I wasn’t aware this was a game.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Clarke still has the teasing smirk on her face and her hands continue to toy with the soft skin at Lexa’s hips, but Lexa knows that her words are sincere. It’s Clarke’s way of telling Lexa that the ball is in her court, that it’s up to her what happens next and how far they go, and that Clarke isn’t going to push her to do anything that she’s not comfortable with.

In another uncharacteristic display of boldness, Lexa answers the silent question that Clarke is asking her with each brush of her fingers against Lexa’s skin with a movement of her own. She reaches down with both hands to the bottom hem of her t-shirt and lifts it up and over her head in a swift movement, exposing her bra-covered top half to the girl beneath her.

Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise and she lets out a little noise of wonderment.

Before she has a chance to second guess herself, Lexa nudges at the bottom of Clarke’s own top with her hand and asks softly, “Your turn?”

Clarke pushes herself up into a seated position, causing Lexa to shuffle back a little bit so that she is now straddling Clarke’s upper thighs instead of her hips, and reaches down to the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up to reveal the expanse of creamy stomach that lies below. The shirt gets briefly caught around Clarke’s head, a tangle of arms and stray bits of hair that has Clarke huffing, but just as Lexa reaches out a helpful hand to assist, Clarke triumphs over the unwanted garment and tosses it onto the floor beside Lexa’s bed.

“If I’d known you were going to be seeing me like this, I would have worn my nice bra,” Clarke quips.

Her words bring Lexa’s attention to the fact that Clarke has just taken off her top for Lexa and holy _shit,_ what a sight it is. Lexa’s eyes widen as she takes in the sheer amount of skin that Clarke has just exposed for her, covered only by a plain navy bra that despite Clarke’s words, Lexa thinks is actually very nice indeed. It’s maybe a size too small (Lexa guesses that getting a decently fitted bra isn’t too high up on the agenda when you’re homeless) but Lexa quickly decides that if there’s one fault that a bra can get away with having then this is definitely it. Clarke’s breasts are bigger than Lexa’s own and they strain against the dark fabric that contains them, and it’s all Lexa can do to not drool at the sight of them.

Her hands itch to reach out and touch them, but the feminist within Lexa rears her head and sends a shameful blush across her face. She knows that Clarke is her girlfriend and if anybody is allowed to look at her topless with hunger and desire it’s her, but Lexa forcefully drags her gaze away from Clarke’s chest, feeling guilty for objectifying the beautiful girl beneath her.

As if sensing the internal struggle in Lexa’s mind, Clarke lays a reassuring hand on Lexa’s thigh and says, “It’s okay, I wouldn’t have taken it off if I didn’t want you to look at them.”

Lexa hesitantly lets her eyes drop back down to Clarke’s breasts and she gapes at them for a few long moments. Trying not to behave like a drooling teenage boy (but okay, she finally understands the obsession that men seem to have with boobs because _wow_ ), Lexa’s eyes stray further down, across the soft skin of Clarke’s stomach. It turns out to be a bad idea too because when her gaze reaches the waistband of Clarke’s jeans she finds herself wondering what might lie beyond that too.

As Lexa blushes furiously at this latest train of thought, Clarke reaches up to tuck a loose strand of Lexa’s hair behind her ear, a knowing smile on her face.

“You’re so gay.”

“I’m so gay,” Lexa concedes, even as she slides a nervous hand up Clarke’s torso until it hovers over a clothed breast, and though she is barely making contact with it, her brain somehow still manages to short-circuit and her hand forgets what it is doing.

Clarke laughs softly under her breath and reaches up with one of her own hands to cover Lexa’s, encouraging her to apply a bit more pressure until her palm is full of soft flesh.

There is only one word that Lexa is coherent enough to gasp out.

“Wow.”

She finds herself briefly wondering whether removing somebody else’s bra is any harder than taking off her own, whether the angles and the distractions created by the proximity of a half-naked girl make what should be a simple flick of a clasp into a monstrous challenge.

And then she internally berates herself for being presumptuous enough to assume that she might get the opportunity to find out.

“Stop overthinking everything,” Clarke whispers, reaching up a hand to caress Lexa’s cheek, and then pulling her back down for another heated kiss.

It’s a little easier to fondle Clarke’s breasts when she’s got Clarke’s kisses to distract her because the brain space that would otherwise be spent worrying that she’s doing it wrong is too busy marvelling at the way that Clarke’s kisses somehow seem infinitely better than they were just a couple of minutes ago, which Lexa didn’t think was possible. She thinks it might have something to do with the two items of clothing that now lay discarded somewhere else in the bedroom, or perhaps the way that Clarke arches her back ever so slightly, pushing her chest up further into Lexa’s exploratory hand.

It happens subconsciously, but the second time that Clarke moves her body to give Lexa better access, Lexa’s hips move with her, and the seam of her crotch rubs against Clarke’s lower belly as she does so. The action does two things; it elicits another little moan from the girl beneath her, but it also alerts Lexa to just how turned on she is.

She removes her hand from Clarke’s breast, letting it drop slightly to her ribcage, and nuzzles her face into the blonde curls that cover Clarke’s neck, hoping that Clarke won’t notice how red she’s just turned in embarrassment at the unintentional movement of her hips.

But instead of picking up on Lexa’s desperation and laughing at her for it, Clarke’s hands seek out Lexa’s hips and give her a reassuring little squeeze, encouraging Lexa to move once more.

“Yeah?” Clarke asks breathily.

“Mm hmm,” Lexa nods as she leans down for another kiss in an attempt to distract Clarke from the way that she once again grinds against Clarke’s hips.

Clarke’s hands drop slightly so that they are resting over Lexa’s denim covered butt, grasping a cheek in each hand and giving a gentle squeeze as she urges Lexa to roll her hips again, which is counterintuitive to Lexa’s own personal mission to try and ignore the growing ache between her legs. She kisses Clarke messily - a casual flick of the tongue here, an urgent nip of the teeth there – drawing out gasp after moan from Clarke until Lexa knows that she can’t be the only one going out of her mind with pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa whispers between kisses.

There’s truth to Lexa’s words but it’s not exactly what she wants to say. What she wants to say is something about how good Clarke is making her feel, how enjoyable her kisses are and how every encouraging squeeze of Clarke’s hands sends another little rush of arousal to the area between Lexa’s thighs. But all of these ways that Clarke is making her feel like she’s floating high above the world are the exact reasons why she can’t verbalise any of it; it’s all far too overwhelming in the most incredible of ways that Lexa doesn’t want to ruin it with words, even if she were able to form a coherent sentence.

She grinds her hips down again and is reminded of just how wet she is. Embarassingly so. She’s almost glad that she’s still got her jeans on because she’s certain that her underwear must be ruined and is grateful for that extra layer that hides from Clarke just how aroused she is.

Clarke pulls away slightly and then immediately dives into Lexa’s neck, assaulting the skin there with fresh kisses that both tickle and burn. Lexa gasps at the briefest scrape of Clarke’s teeth and circles her hips once more, wondering momentarily just how far this is going to escalate.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” Clarke murmurs just below Lexa’s ear, her warm breath sending a shiver of pleasure down Lexa’s spine. “I can’t believe I get to call you mine. That I get to be the one to kiss you like this.”

There’s something about Clarke’s words – it’s not even what Lexa would count as dirty talk, but it’s still turning her on like hell. She rolls her hips once more and Clarke responds, lifting her own slightly in a way that presses the seam at the crotch of Lexa’s jeans right against her clit through her underwear, and she feels everything building at once. The burning arousal between her legs intensifies tenfold, and she knows it’s coming sooner than she would like, and she knows she should stop for just a moment and cool down, but Clarke’s hands, and Clarke’s lips, and Clarke’s _everything_ , and…

“Clarke, I – _oh_!”

And then it crashes over her, the kind of mind-numbing pleasure that she’s only even been given by her own touch before, and it is so unexpected that all Lexa can do is cling to Clarke as she comes down, letting the blonde press kisses to her flushed neck and run tender hands up and down Lexa’s bare back.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Lexa stutters out as soon as she has regained her senses enough to comprehend exactly what just happened and to form words.

“Don’t apologise,” Clarke soothes her, and though her voice is low and throaty and just really damn sexy, Lexa is filled with far too much shame to be able to appreciate it. “That was hot.”

“But I didn’t mean to,” Lexa continues, her eyes beginning to prickle with tears. “We were just kissing and … and then you were just _there_ and before I knew it…”

“Shhh,” Clarke hushes her, wrapping her arms around Lexa to pull her into a tight embrace, their almost bare chests pressing tightly against each other. “There’s nothing wrong with what just happened.”

“But I should have warned you, or something. It just … it happened so _unexpectedly_.”

One of Clarke’s hands finds its way to the back of Lexa’s head, stroking the wild curls there in an attempt to soothe her. She shushes Lexa softly, keeping her arms wrapped around Lexa’s back to keep them as close as humanly possible.

As she tries to concentrate on the deep in and out of her own lungs in an attempt to calm herself down, Lexa can’t help but replay the previous moments over and over in her mind. She doesn’t really understand how it crept up on her so unexpectedly. Whenever she’s touched herself before, it’s always been a slow build kind of thing. Unpractised hands exploring and learning her own body in the darkness of her own bedroom, quiet little gasps as she discovers something that she likes, tentative touches that gradually get bolder as she works herself towards that peak.

It’s never taken her by surprise before.

It’s not like Lexa gets herself off all the time (Lexa’s still ashamed enough of the fact that she does it at all that it’s not a particularly regular thing) but she’s done it enough to know what kind of stimulation she likes. She knows that she does _need_ stimulation in certain places, which is partly why she’s so confused. Perhaps she was so caught up in everything, too busy with kisses, too distracted by the softness and fullness of Clarke’s breast in her hand, to notice that the way that her hips were moving against Clarke’s was providing her with friction in all the right places until it was too late to stop it.

“I can hear you thinking again,” Clarke says softly into Lexa’s ear.

Lifting her head from where it rests on Clarke’s shoulder, Lexa tentatively asks, “You really don’t mind that I … you know … on you?”

“Of course not,” Clarke scoffs, as if it’s a stupid question. “Like I said, it was _hot_. And the fact that it happened accidentally, that your body had that reaction so suddenly to what was happening that you didn’t even have time to fully anticipate it, makes it kind of even hotter. Lexa, I want to make you feel like that again. I want to touch you and I want to taste you and I want to make you feel that good over and over again until you believe that you’re worthy of being made to feel like that. And it doesn’t have to be now, or even this week, or anytime soon at all, but as long as you’re comfortable with it, I want you to do all those things to me too.”

Lexa doesn’t know what to do with that last offer. Still in recovery from her own unexpected orgasm, her brain really doesn’t know how to comprehend the idea of being the one to gift Clarke with that kind of pleasure.

Her throat dry and scratchy, Lexa croaks out, “I want to make you feel like that too.” She hesitates for a couple of seconds to gather a bit of rational thought, and then adds, “Probably not now, because we don’t have long until my mom gets home from work, but soon. I promise.”

Clarke responds with a kiss, nothing like the hungry kisses they were exchanging mere minutes ago, but a sweet lingering kiss that fills Lexa’s heart with so much affection that it starts to overflow, her tear ducts once again prickling with the threat of incoming tears. She blinks them back just in time for Clarke to pull away from the kiss and speak.

“We have all the time in the world.”

And for the second time, Lexa wonders if she’s in love with Clarke, or whether the warm feeling in her chest is because she’s still completely blissed out from her unexpected climax on her girlfriend’s thigh.

* * *

 

Lexa’s mom arrives home from work forty minutes later to find the two girls curled up together on the couch watching cartoons. Upon hearing the front door slam shut, followed by footsteps that gradually get louder as they make their way through the house and into the living room, Lexa lifts her head from where it has been resting in Clarke’s lap.

“Hey mom.”

“Hello, Lexa,” her mother replies, draping her suit jacket over the back of one of the armchairs and setting her bag down on the floor by the door. “Hello, Clarke. Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

Before Clarke can inevitably protest and come up with and excuse to leave before dinner is served, Lexa speaks up hurriedly, “If that’s not too much trouble.”

“Fantastic,” beams Lexa’s mom. “I’ll go and start the food now. How does spaghetti bolognese sound?”

“That sounds lovely,” Clarke answers.

But the politeness is obviously feigned, and barely a second after Lexa’s mother has left the room in the direction of the kitchen, Clarke’s smile drops into a scowl and she pokes Lexa just below her ribs with a pointy index finger.

“I stayed for dinner on Monday,” she says angrily. “I can’t let your mom feed me again.”

“Of course you can,” Lexa replies calmly. “She wouldn’t have offered if she didn’t mind. And if she knew the truth she’d offer to feed you every day and let you sleep in the spare room, no questions asked.”

Lexa leans her head down on Clarke’s shoulder and reaches out with lazy fingers to take her girlfriend’s hand. Clarke jolts at the contact and then relaxes into it slightly, though she remains noticeably tense.

“We’ve been through this before,” Clarke says softly, as if she is worried that Lexa’s mom might overhear their conversation from the other room. “We’re not coming clean to your mom. We don’t need to. Everything is fine as it is.”

“In which case you need to accept that we will be feeding you a couple of times each week,” Lexa argues back. “I have dinner with you at Bellamy’s sometimes so it’s no big deal.”

“I know,” sighs Clarke. “I just … I don’t want you to think that I’m only with you for your money.”

Lexa actually snorts when she hears the sheer preposterousness of Clarke’s words, and she lifts her head up and uses one of her fingers to tilt Clarke’s chin until they are face to face.

“Do you honestly believe I could ever think that?”

“Well, no…” Clarke admits, hanging her head in shame.

“Exactly,” says Lexa, giving Clarke a warm smile. “I really care about you, Clarke, and that means that I care that you’re eating well and that you have somewhere to sleep but it also means that I really hope you care about me too.”

“I do,” Clarke insists.

“And I know that,” Lexa continues. “I know that if you were only interested in me for my money then you would have taken the two hundred dollars I tried to give you back when we first met and scarpered. But for some reason you’re still here. I trust you and I want the best for you.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to cuddle up into Lexa, pressing herself into the brunette’s side and giving Lexa’s fingers a grateful squeeze where they sit interlaced on Clarke’s lap.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” she mumbles.

“Clarke…”

“No, listen,” Clarke continues. “When I lost my dad and then my mom grew distant and I lost everything and all my hope for a future, I thought that I’d never be happy again. And of course I’m happy with my friends, or at least they help me forget to be sad, but then I met you and … and I don’t think I’ve been this happy since before my dad died.”

Lexa feels a lump form in her throat and it takes a lot of effort to keep herself together in front of Clarke. She feels a rush of affection for the girl leaning against her side, and though she’s obviously heard all about Clarke’s past, and seen the defensive walls that Clarke puts up to protect herself from further pain, it only really hits Lexa now just what her girlfriend has been through – loss, grief and suffering, crippling loneliness – despite which Clarke is still making an effort to try and rebuild her life again.

Thinking aloud, Lexa muses, “Have you thought about getting in contact with your mom again?”

Clarke jolts up, no longer soft and affectionate, but with a dark scowl on her face.

“Why would I -? Lexa, she _killed_ my dad.”

“She didn’t kill …” Lexa trails off, the glare on Clarke’s face telling her that she needs to know better than to try and speak as if she knows more about Clarke’s parental situation than Clarke does. “Clarke, it’s been three years. She’s probably worried about you.”

“She’s probably forgotten I exist. Which is good, because I don’t care about her anymore either.”

Lexa can see it written all over Clarke’s face that it’s a lie, but she decides not to point that out for Clarke’s sake. She has a point that she’s trying to get across here and the less agitated Clarke is, the better reception Lexa’s words will get.

“Of course she cares about you, Clarke. You’re her daughter. I know that you lost your dad and that was a terrible, terrible thing, but she lost her husband. She lost the love of her life, and that will have been hard for her. And yes, I know there aren’t any excuses for neglecting you like she did but people aren’t themselves when they’re grieving.”

“Speaking from experience, are you?” Clarke scorns. “What, did your goldfish die when you were younger, or something? Did you bury it in your back garden and hold a little funeral for it?”

Lexa slumps back against the cushions of the sofa. She knows it’s a touchy subject, but Clarke has been showing so much enthusiasm for getting her life back on track recently that Lexa had been hoping that she would at least be receptive to the idea of speaking to her mom again.

After a minute of not saying anything, the only sound in the room being the bright music and slapstick sound effects coming from the cartoons on the television, Clarke says in a much softer voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, you’re right. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to have lost your father. I just don’t like to see you hurting.”

“I’m hurting a hell of a lot less than I would be if I was still around my mom,” Clarke says with a shrug. “Anyway, I’ve got you now. You’re my family. You and Raven and the Blakes and all my other friends. I don’t need parents.”

Though she’s entirely unsatisfied with both the way the conversation panned out and Clarke’s attitude towards reconnecting with her mother, Lexa decides to let the subject drop.

* * *

 

Except that she doesn’t really.

She doesn’t bring it up as forwardly as the first time, learning from experience that Clarke a) doesn’t like to be told what to do and b) will shut down a conversation about her mother as soon as it starts. But Lexa decides that she’s going to subtly inject the idea into a conversation every so often in the hope that keeping Clarke’s mom close to the front of her girlfriend’s mind might guilt her into taking some initiative and making the first move into getting back into contact with her mom.

Clarke, as observant and quick-witted as she is, sees right through Lexa.

“No,” she says adamantly, when Lexa mentions Clarke’s mom for the third time in two days, while the two are out for a weekend brunch at a quiet little cafe not too far from Bellamy and Raven’s apartment. “I see what you’re doing. She’s out of my life and it’s for the best, Lexa, and the sooner you can understand that the better.”

“I’m not asking you to move back in with her,” Lexa sighs. “I just think it would be nice if you maybe at least let her know that you’re still alive.”

Clarke wipes at her mouth with a napkin and pushes her chair back from the table, getting up to her feet.

“This conversation is over. I’m going to the bathroom and when I get back we’re talking about something else, okay?”

Lexa nods apologetically and watches as Clarke walks over to the bathroom on the other side of the restaurant.

But Clarke has left her phone on the table, and with the previous conversation not yet pushed from her mind, the temptation to reach over and take it in Clarke’s absence is too strong, and Lexa knows that she shouldn’t, she really _shouldn’t_...

Sparing a quick glance to the bathroom door to check that Clarke isn’t returning yet, Lexa reaches across the table and swipes Clarke’s phone up. She unlocks it swiftly – so quickly in fact that she doesn’t even let herself smile at the fact that Clarke’s passcode means that Lexa has to type out her own name into the number pad on the cracked screen to gain access to the phone – and immediately opens up Clarke’s contacts, her teeth anxiously nibbling at her own lower lip as she races to complete her mission before Clarke gets back.

There’s a moment of panic when it takes Lexa far too long to find the phone number that she’s looking for (because Clarke doesn’t have her mom’s number under anything normal like _Mom_ or even the slightly less affectionate _Abby_ ) and she worries that maybe Clarke actually _is_ heartless enough to have removed all trace of her mother from her life, but when Lexa scrolls down the list of contacts in Clarke’s phone and spots a number listed under the name _Supreme Bitch_ , Lexa thinks she’s probably hit the jackpot.

She quickly sends the number to herself, and then goes about hastily removing all evidence from Clarke’s phone.

Lexa has barely had time to place Clarke’s phone back down on the table in its original position when Clarke emerges from the bathroom, wiping her wet hands on the front of her jeans and completely oblivious to the way that Lexa has completely violated not only her privacy, but also her desire to stay out of contact with her mother.

* * *

 

Lexa manages to cleanse her conscience, at least for a few days, by telling herself that if she hasn’t yet called the new number in her phone (which she has saved under a false name so as not to arouse suspicion in the unlikely circumstance that Clarke should find herself looking through Lexa’s contacts) then she has no reason to feel guilty for betraying her girlfriend’s trust.

But with each day that passes, Lexa’s phone gets heavier and heavier in her pocket, until finally, when Clarke complains for the second day in a row that she couldn’t afford lunch, Lexa realises that she has the power to maybe help turn Clarke’s life back around.

The problem is that in order to do that, she needs to do something that could make Clarke hate Lexa forever.

She’s in the middle of doing her homework on a Wednesday night when it finally happens, meticulously combing through a literature essay that she needs to turn in the following morning. Her phone sits on top of a pile of books a couple of feet away, just out of reach (from what Lexa understands, Clarke is currently being beaten by Raven and Octavia on Mario Kart on the other side of the city and though the pouty snapchats she keeps receiving from her girlfriend are cute, they are a distraction that Lexa’s near perfect GPA can’t afford), but Lexa still can’t concentrate. It’s like the phone is taunting her from where it lies just in her peripheral vision, never quite out of sight in a constant reminder of the number within that she could be calling.

In a split second, Lexa has snatched up her phone, unlocked it, and opened up the contact information for Clarke’s mom. The number glares up at her from the screen, and her thumb twitches towards the call icon. That’s all it would take, just a little more movement from her thumb and then…

Oh _shit_.

Lexa didn’t mean to actually dial the number, in fact she had every intention of turning off her phone and tossing it onto the bed behind her in the hope that being out of sight completely would also remove it from Lexa’s mind, but an accidental twitch of her thumb at exactly the wrong moment means that she hears the dial-up tone coming through the speaker of her phone, and one petrifying word stares up at her from the screen.

_Calling_.

The phone rings three times – five long seconds that feel like hours as Lexa stares at the screen in a panic and her mind flails around uselessly – before it is answered on the other end of the call.

“Hello?”

It’s a woman’s voice, and though Lexa has no way of knowing that she’s taken the right number from Clarke’s phone, she would hazard a guess that the voice probably does belong to an older woman and not one of Clarke’s friends.

“Hello,” Lexa says, her hand trembling as she raises the phone to her ear and speaks into it, “is this Abby Griffin?”

“Yes, speaking.”

Lexa exhales slowly, closing her eyes for a couple of seconds to gain a little bit of composure, then continues with her call.

“Hello Mrs Griffin. I … I’m just calling about your daughter.”

There’s a moment of silence on the line, then Abby’s voice comes back, this time with a nervous edge that wasn’t there before.

“Clarke? Is she okay? She’s not hurt is she?” Another pause, and then, “Oh my, has she been _arrested_?”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Lexa is quick to assure Abby.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Abby breathes a sigh of relief. “You had me worried for a second.”

“Clarke is perfectly safe, I can promise you that.”

Sounding much calmer after Lexa’s reassurances, Abby asks, “May I ask who is calling?”

“My name is Lexa. I’m Clarke’s…”

Lexa trails off, realising that telling Abby that she’s dating Clarke might not be the best idea. Clarke has never really spoken much about her sexuality and though Lexa gets the impression that it’s not, nor has it ever been, a particularly big deal to Clarke, she doesn’t know if she ever took the opportunity to come out to her parents before her father’s death. She definitely knows it’s not fair for her to out Clarke to her own mother.

(She tries to ignore the fact that it’s not really fair for her to be talking to Clarke’s mother at all.)

“I’m a friend of your daughter’s,” Lexa says, settling for a toned down version of the truth. “I … I’m so sorry, I spent ages planning what I was going to say to you and it’s all gone straight out of my head in the moment.”

“Does she want to see me?” Abby asks, and Lexa’s insides sink at the glimmer of hope she can hear in her voice, even through the speaker of the phone.

“Not exactly,” Lexa chooses her words carefully, afraid of damaging an already broken relationship even further. “She … she’s still hurting a lot after what happened and she’s trying to act tough and pretend that she doesn’t care anymore but I think it would do her some good to have you back in her life again, even if it’s just small steps to start with.”

Abby gives a hum of agreement, and then says carefully, “I know that I wasn’t the best mother to Clarke. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for her. I … I wasn’t myself after Jake died but I should have been there for her.”

Abby’s words do a little to settle the guilty unease that has been bubbling away inside Lexa, reassured that even if she is doing the wrong thing by speaking to Clarke’s mom behind her back, she’s at least learned that Abby understands where she went wrong.

“How is she?” Abby asks, before Lexa can say anything else. “How is she _really_? I haven’t spoken to or heard from her since she got expelled from school.”

“She’s…” Lexa considers fabricating the truth just to appease Abby and give her what she wants to hear, but she settles for being completely honest. “Frankly I think she’s been better.” She adds quickly, “She’s doing well though. Much better now than when I met her. She’s going to school regularly now and she’s got a good network of friends. I think she’s really trying to get her life back on track.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” says Abby, and Lexa can hear the relief in her voice.

“Oh,” Lexa remembers, “and she wants to go to college. Not this fall, but next year. Art school.”

“College?” Abby’s voice is full of surprise. “Oh, wow. You know, I had all these visions of Clarke being alone out on the streets, or in prison somewhere, or … something much worse.”

_Or dead_. Abby doesn’t have to elaborate for Lexa to know exactly what she means by ‘something much worse’. And to be honest, this is partly why she called Abby in the first place, to reassure her that her daughter is alive and well.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lexa says calmly. “She’s doing great.”

“Can I see her?”

Lexa is taken aback by the question, and she quickly scolds herself because she should have known that Abby would want to see Clarke again and prepared a response accordingly. She knows what answer she should give – a resolute no until she gets Clarke’s consent – but even though Abby’s voice is slightly grainy through the speaker of Lexa’s phone, she can still hear the hope in Abby’s words, and Lexa doesn’t know whether she can be ruthless enough to outright crush that hope.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she starts tentatively. “Clarke would kill me if she even knew I was talking to you right now, let alone setting up a meeting with you.” Hearing a disappointed sigh down the phone, Lexa adds quickly, “I’m working on it though. I’m hoping she’ll come around soon.”

“Can I at least have a number to call her on?” Abby begs. “I won’t tell her that you gave it to me. I’ll say I got it through other means.”

Lexa knows that she should probably say no, for Clarke’s sake, but she can hear the pleading tone in Abby’s voice and if their conversation has brought one thing to Lexa’s attention, it’s that Abby understands her mistakes and is keen to make things right with her daughter.

The only issue is that Clarke doesn’t seem ready for that yet.

“I shouldn’t…” Lexa starts.

“ _Please_ , Lexa.”

Closing her eyes, Lexa lets out a heavy sigh and rests her head on the hand not holding her phone up to her ear. It’s taking every ounce of willpower that she can muster up to say no to Abby and it kills her inside that she has to do this, but she know that it’s the right thing to do for now.

“I really shouldn’t,” Lexa repeats. “I’m not sure that I can do that.”

“I just want a chance to talk to my daughter again,” Abby pleads. “I know I messed up, but she’s my little girl and I love her and…”

Interrupting Abby, Lexa says, “I know that Mrs. Griffin. I want you to have that chance too, but I can’t give you Clarke’s number without her permission, I’m sorry. I will speak to her though. I’ll try my best to get her to open up to the idea of talking to you.”

The disappointment evident in her voice, Abby quietly says, “I understand. Thank you for calling me. You’ve put my mind at ease.”

“It’s been nice talking to you, Mrs Griffin. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Lexa.”

Lexa finds it even harder than before to concentrate on her homework for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

Lexa’s phone goes off in the middle of history class, vibrating in the pocket of the blazer that hangs over the back of her chair. Glancing around quickly to check that nobody else heard the soft buzzing sound, she retrieves it and holds it under her table, out of sight from any prying eyes, particularly those of the teacher lecturing them at the front of the classroom, should she look Lexa’s way.

**Clarke Griffin  
** _Hey, you busy tonight?_

Lexa glances once up to the front, then quickly taps out a reply, grateful to her past self who chose to sit in the second row from the back at the beginning of the academic year.

**Lexa Woods  
** _Just the usual, homework etc._

Clarke’s response is almost immediate.

**Clarke Griffin  
** _Can I see you? There’s something I need to do and I’d like it if you came with me_

**Lexa Woods  
** _Of course!_

Lexa locks the screen of her phone, resting it on her lap beneath the table, and picks up her pen, quickly jotting down some of the notes that she missed during her brief texting interlude. But the tone of Clarke’s messages worry Lexa and she drops her pen after only a couple of sentences, picking up the phone once again and typing out another message to her girlfriend.

**Lexa Woods  
** _Is everything ok?_

**Clarke Griffin  
** _I’ll explain later_

Lexa is not convinced. Clarke has been acting a little strangely for the last three or four days, and ever since Lexa’s phonecall with Clarke’s mother just two days ago, and the paranoid part of Lexa’s brain has done a fantastic job in convincing her that Clarke has somehow found out about Lexa’s betrayal.

The rational part of Lexa’s brain tries to remind her that if Clarke had already found out, Lexa would definitely know about it because she would have taken it out on Lexa immediately, but that doesn’t really help calm Lexa’s nerves.

* * *

 

Clarke is just as jumpy when Lexa meets with her after school, and Lexa can tell that there’s something on her mind before she even reaches the bus stop, spotting her girlfriend pacing back and forth along the sidewalk at their agreed meeting point as she approaches.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lexa asks, laying a gentle hand on Clarke’s arm when she arrives. “Is everything okay? Where are we going?”

Clarke reaches up to take the hand that Lexa is comforting her with in her own and leads Lexa over to the wall nearby that lines the sidewalk, perching on the edge of it and encouraging Lexa to sit down beside her. She intertwines their fingers and traces her thumb up and down the soft skin on the back of Lexa’s hand.

“We’re getting a bus,” explains Clarke. “A different bus. There’s somewhere I need to … I …”

Clarke trails off with a sad little sigh and she leans into Lexa’s side, resting her head against Lexa’s.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks worriedly. “Is something the matter?”

“Three years,” Clarke says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, and Lexa can hear a gravelly little croak to her voice that isn’t usually there. “My dad died three years ago today. I want to … I _need_ to go to his grave.”

“Oh, Clarke,” Lexa sighs, dropping the hands that are linked between their thighs so that she can swing an arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pull her into a tight embrace. Pressing a lingering kiss to Clarke’s cheek, she continues, “I had no idea that was today.”

“Yeah, well I don’t really go around advertising it,” shrugs Clarke. “Raven and Octavia knew it was today. We took the day off school and went into town as a distraction. It was good of them to do that, but I’d like it a lot if you would be the one to visit his grave with me. I’d like to – and I know this is going to sound fucking stupid – but I’d really like for him to ‘meet’ you, so to speak.”

Clarke uses two fingers on each hand to create air quotes as she says the word “meet”, and Lexa smiles reassuringly at her.

“I’d like that,” she tells Clarke honestly. “I know how hard you find it to open up, but I really appreciate you offering to let me into something so personal.”

* * *

 

They catch a bus, a different one to the normal ones that either of them usually catch to and from school, and get off it again after just a quick fifteen minute journey. Clarke takes them down a quiet street with a few independent shops, leading Lexa by the hand into a florists on the corner, but once inside, she stops and stares around with wide eyes.

“I don’t know what to get him,” she admits. “I don’t know what kind of flowers he liked, or if he even liked flowers at all.”

“What was his favourite colour?”

“Blue.”

Lexa immediately jumps to Clarke’s rescue, wandering around the shop knowledgeably and picking out a pretty selection of white and blue flowers, before approaching the counter and asking the florist to create a bouquet from her choices. The display that she creates for them is simple but artful, and when the price pops up in green letters on the front of the cash register, Clarke starts fumbling around in the back pocket of her jeans for some change, but Lexa quickly stops her.

“I’ll get it, it’s fine,” she insists. “A gift to your father from somebody who cares about his daughter very much.”

As they leave the florist’s, bouquet in Clarke’s hand, Clarke scuffs her shoes against the sidewalk and mumbles softly, “You didn’t have to pay for it for me. He’s dead, you don’t need to try and impress him.”

Lexa laughs under her breath at Clarke’s little attempt to lighten the mood with a joke, then reaches out to take Clarke’s free hand with her own.

“It’s okay. I wanted to.”

Clarke gives Lexa’s hand a grateful little squeeze and they continue on their way.

* * *

 

The cemetery is just a five minute walk away but they make the journey in silence. There’s a sombre mood hanging over them, understandably so, and though Lexa wonders whether she should be leading a conversation to distract Clarke from what day it is and where they’re going, she figures that that’s probably what Raven and Octavia have been doing all day, and that she might welcome the silence to be alone with her own thoughts.

“Here we are,” Clarke says as she pushes open the heavy iron gate that leads into the cemetery from the sidewalk. “He’s over by that tree.”

Lexa follows Clarke between two rows of worn headstones until Clarke stops in front of one that is newer than those surrounding it, the polished marble not yet showing any signs of erosion and the gold inscription carved into it still as legible as it would have been the day it was installed in the graveyard.

_JAKE GRIFFIN  
09.26.71 – 05.10.15 _

“Hey, Dad,” Clarke says aloud into the cemetery that is empty apart from the two girls who stand at this particular grave. “Um, I brought you some flowers.”

Clarke bends down to place the bouquet at the foot of the marble headstone, and when she straightens, she takes a step back to stand at Lexa’s side, her hand fumbling to take hold of Lexa’s once more. There’s a little frown on Clarke’s face, shown in the tiny line just between her eyebrows, and a look of sad longing in her usually lively blue eyes.

“And I brought somebody to meet you,” Clarke continues, glancing up at Lexa for reassurance, which Lexa gives her with a little nod. Turning back to the gravestone, Clarke says, “This is Lexa.”

“Hello, Mr Griffin,” Lexa says aloud, pushing past the lump that has formed in her throat. She feels a little stupid speaking to what is essentially just a slab of shiny marble, but she knows how much this means to Clarke, how much Clarke does actually believe that her father can hear her right now, and she wants to do this as much for Clarke as she does herself. “I’m honored that Clarke brought me along today. She always speaks so highly of you.”

The little squeeze that Clarke gives her hand, almost indiscernible but not quite, tells Lexa that she’s saying the right things.

“Dad, Lexa is my girlfriend. I…” Clarke pauses, closes her eyes for a couple of seconds, and then after a deep breath, opens them and continues, “I’m sorry that I never had the chance to come out to you before you … well, I never had the chance to share that bit of me with you when you were still here, but I know you wouldn’t care that Lexa is a girl. And … and I _really_ like her, Dad.”

Lexa’s heart can’t help but melt as she hears Clarke’s words, and she quickly reaches a hand up to wipe at the tear that forms in the corner of her eye, not wanting Clarke to see it.

Thankfully oblivious, Clarke continues, “I think you’d really like her too. She’s like super smart, and funny, and just a really good person.” Clarke smiles to herself, then says, “You’d get on with her well. I can just imagine you both at family dinners, sharing jokes between you and ganging up on me.”

Hearing a soft sniffle from beside her, Lexa glances across to see Clarke wiping her own damp eyes with her free hand, slightly smudging her mascara. Lexa drops Clarke’s hand so that she has the arm free to wrap around Clarke’s back, fingers tightening around Clarke’s waist.

Sensing that Clarke might be too emotional to continue, at least for the immediate future, Lexa speaks up, “You raised a really wonderful daughter, Mr Griffin. Clarke is the most incredible person I’ve ever met and I owe part of that to you. And we both know that she can be stubborn and likes everybody to think that she’s always strong, but I promise to be there for her when she can’t be strong. I promise to look after her.”

_I promise to look after her for you_. Lexa doesn’t say it, but it’s implied, and she knows that Clarke has picked up on it because she leans slightly into Lexa’s side and reaches a hand up to cover Lexa’s briefly on her waist.

“Thank you,” Clarke whispers softly, and Lexa knows that these words are meant for her. “Thanks for coming with me. I wasn’t sure if I could do it on my own.”

“Of course,” Lexa replies. “I’d do anything for you, Clarke, I…”

She stops herself before she says the words, catching her tongue before it runs away from her. Perhaps it’s the emotion riding high between the two them, charged by the situation and the words that have just been spoken into the early evening air, but Lexa knows that she’d been just about to say it to Clarke.

‘It’ being those three little words.

_Clarke, I love you._

Which is ridiculous, because Lexa has been waiting for the moment when it suddenly hits her how much she is in love with Clarke, and it hasn’t happened yet. Unless it has, and she somehow missed it, because she’s pretty sure in this moment that she _does_ love Clarke…

“Clarke?”

Lexa doesn’t get the chance to figure out just exactly what this means because they are interrupted by a third person in the cemetery, a female voice calling out Clarke’s name from somewhere behind them. And though the voice is almost unfamiliar to Lexa, nearly unrecognisable from the last time she heard it coming through the speaker of her phone, from the way that she can feel the way that Clarke instantly tenses at her side, as if somebody has just poured an ice cold bucket of water over her head, Lexa knows exactly who it belongs to.

“Mom?”

The two of them turn around slowly in complete synchronisation, and Lexa’s eyes fall on the woman standing just inside the gated entrance to the cemetery. Lexa recognises her from a few images she’d found in online medical journals during the quick google search she did of Abby Griffin last week when psyching herself up to make the phonecall, but this Abby looks very different to how she had looked in the professional photographs. And Lexa knows that the differences must be down to more than just some good lighting and a decent quality camera, because there are many more lines on Abby’s face and her complexion is pale, exaggerating the dark bags under her eyes.

Perhaps losing your husband and your only daughter in quick succession makes you age much faster.

“Clarke, honey, I…”

Abby starts to walk towards them, but Clarke is having none of it, dropping Lexa’s hand and taking a few steps back.

“No,” she shakes her head, her eyes shimmering with the onset of tears. “No. Stay away from me.”

“Clarke…”

“Stay _away_ from me!” Clarke repeats, raising her voice and choking over the words as the first tears spill from her eyes and cascade down her cheeks, leaving dark trails of mascara in their wake.

Spotting her chance to maybe try and make things right between mother and daughter, Lexa reaches out a hand to steady Clarke, hoping that if she can just get Clarke to calm down and look at things rationally, perhaps Clarke will be willing to have a mature conversation with her mom and takes the first steps towards fixing their broken relationship.

“Clarke,” Lexa starts, “maybe if you just…”

Lexa trails off in fear as Clarke turns her attention to Lexa, the sheer anger in her glare causing Lexa to cower away and forget her own words. There’s something in Clarke’s eyes that Lexa has never seen before, a dark inferno of rage that hasn’t been there when Clarke has been angry with Lexa in the past.

“I bet you’re in on this, aren’t you?” she shouts at Lexa. “It’s a bit of a coincidence that you’ve been asking me to make up with her and then she just turns up here. Did you invite her here? Huh? _Huh?_ ”

“Clarke, no, of course I didn’t!” Lexa protests.

“Tell me the truth, Lexa!”

Lexa sighs exasperatedly, not entirely sure why Clarke is choosing to lash out at her but trying not to get too frustrated in retaliation because she knows that Clarke is highly charged with raw emotions right now, the combination of grief along with the reminder of why she ran away from home. Abby’s presence is certainly not going to help keep Clarke in an emotionally stable place, and though Lexa knows that she has nothing to do with Abby turning up here today, she can understand why Clarke might feel the need to lash out at her.

“Clarke, look where we are!” Lexa reminds her, gesturing to the headstones that surround them. “It’s your father’s grave on the anniversary of his death. Has it not crossed your mind that she’s here for the same reason that we are?”

Clarke lets out a lurching sob as tears cascade down her cheeks, a painful noise that seems to rip through Lexa’s chest and tear her heart out from inside her ribcage.

“Clarke, I…”

It’s then that Lexa makes her mistake, in reaching out with one hand to touch Clarke’s arm in what is intended to be a gesture of reassurance.

“Get _off_ me!” Clarke shrieks, as she retracts her arm as suddenly as she would if Lexa’s hand were a red hot poker burning her skin. “I … I need space.”

Before Lexa even has a chance to fully process what is going on, Clarke has stormed right past her, right past her mother, and leaves the graveyard through the same gate they entered earlier, hurrying along the sidewalk and across the road.

Realising that Clarke is not in the right mental or emotional state to be wandering parts of the city alone, let alone safely crossing roads, Lexa forces her brain to start working in a forward gear once more and rushes after Clarke’s retreating form, stopping only momentarily on her way out of the cemetery to apologise to an equally stunned and teary-eyed Abby.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Griffin,” Lexa tells Abby as she passes Clarke’s mother. “I’ll try and get her to see some sense, I promise!”

Lexa chases after Clarke as fast as her legs will carry her, a feat which is much harder in her restrictive school uniform. Her black shoes, flimsy pumps that are open at the top, are hardly made for running, and the bag that hangs from her shoulder, heavy with schoolbooks, is an uncomfortable extra weight that swings as Lexa runs and makes chasing after Clarke just that little bit harder.

Clarke’s headstart has her across the busy road when Lexa is barely out of the gated cemetery and it’s just Lexa’s luck that the lights at the pedestrian crossing turn red when she reaches it, and two lanes of traffic zoom past in each direction as she waits for the lights to change again. With each second that Lexa is waiting on the sidewalk, Clarke gets further away until, when the traffic finally slows to let Lexa cross the road, Clarke has vanished from sight with no indication of which way she might have gone.

“Shit,” Lexa mutters, delving into the inside pocket on her school blazer and pulling out her phone. She opens the text conversation with Clarke, where the most recent messages are the ones of Clarke asking to meet Lexa after school, and composes a quick message for her girlfriend.

**Lexa Woods  
** _Please don’t push me away Clarke. I’m always going to be here for you xxx_

Lexa considers sending a second message, an _I love you Clarke_ , but it doesn’t quite seem right to say it for the first time over text after the day that Clarke has had.


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa doesn’t hear from Clarke for two whole days after the incident at the cemetery.

It’s not for want of trying though, for she’s been texting and attempting to call her girlfriend intermittently ever since she watched her storm away from her father’s grave, but there’s been no response.

It’s a tricky situation to be in. Lexa knows that she could quite easily make her way across town to Bellamy and Raven’s apartment, where Clarke will almost certainly show up at some point, if she’s not already there, and confront her girlfriend. But Clarke is stubborn and Lexa knows that showing up unannounced when Clarke had made it clear through her lack of response that she doesn’t want to talk to Lexa yet would just be asking for a huge shouting match.

So she just settles for texting Clarke what feels like four hundred times a day, waiting for even just a one word response that will let her know that Clarke is okay.

**Lexa Woods** **  
** _ Still here if you need me xx _

**Lexa Woods** **  
** _ I get that you need space but I only want to help you _

**Lexa Woods** **  
** _ Please just let me know that you’re ok and not doing something stupid and I’ll stop pestering you _

She considers sending a fourth text, an  _ I love you, Clarke _ text, but it doesn’t feel right to say that for the first time over text when the two of them are kind of maybe in the middle of a fight.

When her phone vibrates against her nightstand a few minutes later, Lexa can’t reach out for it fast enough, and her flailing arm knocks her alarm clock onto the floor in her hurry to read the new message.

**Unknown number** **  
** _ Hey this is Raven, just thought I’d let you know that Clarke is only ignoring your messages because she’s childish and thinks that throwing a tantrum is helpful (spoiler: IT’S NOT) but she’s fine and she’ll speak to you when she’s ready _

Lexa sends her thanks in response and tosses her phone back onto the nightstand with a sigh. Hearing that Clarke is okay, that she’s just being stubborn instead of actually doing something self-destructive, does less to relieve Lexa’s anxious mind than she thought it would.

Lexa rolls over in bed and pulls the covers up tight to her neck, but it is another couple of hours before her brain finally slips into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

Two days. Forty eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes. That’s how long it’s been since Lexa last heard anything from Clarke. And Lexa is pretty sure that time has dragged on so slowly that she’s been able to count each second of every single one of those minutes.

She hasn’t really slept in those two days, not beyond a few restless hours each night which hardly seem to count when she wakes up even more fatigued than she had been the night before. Her mind is constantly plagued by anxiety - not only can she not sleep, but she’s barely listened to a word that any of her teachers have said at school and she’s been off her food too.

Were she not so worried about Clarke’s wellbeing, she would perhaps laugh at how poetic the situation is; Clarke has become such an important part of her life now that she quite literally isn’t able to function properly without her. It’s like something out of a romance novel.

Lexa has already decided that if she hasn’t heard anything from her girlfriend by the end of the following school day, she’ll get on Clarke’s usual bus instead of her own after school and make her own way to Raven’s apartment to force Clarke to confront whatever it is that’s sent her into radio silence.

She’s so resigned to the fact that Clarke’s stubbornness will hold out that when Clarke does finally decide to speak to Lexa again, it comes as an unexpected, but not unwelcome surprise.

Lexa is washing her hands in the bathroom at the top of the stairs when the doorbell rings and she thinks absolutely nothing of it. She has no reason to; at this time on a weekday evening it’s probably just going to be a cold caller, somebody trying to sell something to Lexa’s parents or asking for donations for a local non-profit organisation.

But when she exits the bathroom, ready to head back to her bedroom and spend another couple of hours listening to sad music and staring at the screen of her phone as if doing that will make Clarke text her, she hears her own name from the bottom of the stairs.

“…Lexa didn’t tell me to expect you this evening.”

Lexa skulks across the landing, keeping herself out of sight as she tries to peer down the stairs to get a glimpse of the mystery visitor at the front door.

“Uh, yeah,” comes a second voice, a very familiar voice that Lexa has gone a whole forty eight hours waiting to hear again. “I kind of didn’t tell her that I was coming. We, um, we had a bit of a fight a couple of days ago. I’m here to make it up to her.”

“Clarke?” Lexa says, as she takes the first few steps down, stopping when Clarke is fully in view.

Clarke’s gaze rises to look over Lexa’s mom’s head and meets Lexa’s, her eyes widening.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly.

Too busy gawking at each other, Clarke just inside the front door and Lexa about a third of the way down the stairs, neither of them notice as Lexa’s mom scuttles away into the kitchen.

“I … um, I brought you flowers,” Clarke says, awkwardly holding out a bouquet of bright flowers that had gone previously unnoticed to Lexa, “to say sorry for being such an ass.”

Lexa stares at Clarke for a few more seconds, taking in the look of guilt in her wide blue eyes (the eyes, Lexa notes, which have dark bags under them to mirror Lexa’s own, and she realises that Clarke has probably had even less sleep than she has since they last saw each other), before she glances at the flowers in her outstretched hand. It’s a small bouquet, nothing too spectacular, but the colours are pretty, and knowing that Clarke’s financial situation doesn’t allow for her to spend on such extravagances as gifts for her girlfriend makes the gesture all the more meaningful.

“Let’s find a vase for those,” Lexa says as she descends the rest of the stairs to accept the flowers, making sure that her fingers brush against the back of Clarke’s hand as she does so that Clarke knows that the apology has been accepted.

“Lexa, I’m…”

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa hushes her as she locates a small glass vase inside a cabinet in the living room. “We’ll talk about it in my room. More privacy.”

They go to Lexa’s bedroom in silence, stopping only momentarily to fill the vase with water in the bathroom along the way, and once they are both inside her room, Lexa closes the door behind them for privacy and places the vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill. When she turns around, the Clarke that she sees, hovering anxiously by the door with her shoulder hunched and her fidgety hands clasped together in front of her instead of sprawling across the queen-sized bed like she normally does when she visits Lexa, is nothing like the Clarke that Lexa is used to.

Lexa wastes no time in crossing the room, ignoring the uncomfortable rift that falls between them and the conversation that they so desperately need to have by closing the gap and wrapping her arms tightly around Clarke. Her chin rests on Clarke’s shoulder, her face buried in Clarke’s soft blonde hair, and the scent that envelops her is one that she’s missed hopelessly over the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m so glad that you’re okay,” she mumbles softly, her hand tracing a reassuring path up and down Clarke’s spine through her leather jacket.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” says Clarke. “That was kind of shitty.”

“Well, you’ve had a shitty week,” Lexa shrugs.

Withdrawing her arms from around Clarke, Lexa climbs onto the bed, crawling up to the headboard, where she settles against the pillows and pats the space next to her to invite Clarke to join her. When Clarke gets onto the bed too and cuddles into Lexa’s side, softer and more vulnerable than Lexa has seen her before, Lexa continues with an apology of her own.

“I’m sorry if you feel like I was trying to push you to get in touch with your mom again. That was shitty on  _ my _ part. You don’t have to talk to her ever again if you don’t want to. She’s  _ your _ mom, and that decision is yours to make.”

Lexa wonders momentarily whether she should confess to the phonecall that she made last week, but she’s scared of Clarke’s reaction so soon after their reconciliation, especially knowing that her conversation with Clarke’s mom had absolutely nothing to do with Abby’s appearance at the cemetery, which was purely coincidental.

“Yes it is,” Clarke agrees with a nod. “Which is why I decided to call her.”

“You did?” asks Lexa, eyebrows shooting up across her forehead in surprise.

Following the incident in the cemetery, Lexa has resigned herself to the fact that Clarke will probably never want to get in touch with her mother again, and she’s made a personal decision to not bring it up with Clarke again. So it is definitely a shock to hear that Clarke has taken the initiative to call her without any further prompting.

“I’m going to see her next weekend,” Clarke explains. She lifts her head to look at Lexa in the eyes, then continues, “We both are. I … uh, I asked her if I could invite you too and I was kind of hoping you’d come with me. You know, as a buffer.”

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Lexa replies, without hesitation. She takes Clarke’s hand, giving her fingers a squeeze and taking a moment to appreciate how right Clarke’s fingers feel locked between her own, after two days of only having the memory to keep her company, and then she says, “I’m so proud of you for reaching out to her.”

* * *

The bus journey to Abby’s house the following weekend is a silent one.

Lexa can’t even begin to imagine how conflicting and overwhelming the thoughts running through Clarke’s brain must be right now, and though she wants to be able to say something to help put her girlfriend’s mind at rest, she’s pretty sure from the way that Clarke is chewing on her own lip and involuntarily bouncing her leg up and down that anything she does try to say to comfort Clarke will probably only make her more agitated.

They get off the bus in a neighbourhood that isn’t too far from Lexa’s own, and it registers that Clarke moving back in with her mother on a permanent basis would be really convenient for their relationship, because the ten minute walk between their houses would be much easier than having to take two buses across to the other side of town.

(She immediately scolds herself for having such thoughts, because it is Clarke’s decision, not hers, on whether to move back in to her old home, and definitely not something that she should choose to do merely for the convenience of visiting her girlfriend.)

“Are you okay?” asks Lexa, reaching out to take Clarke’s hand as they start walking from the bus stop to Clarke’s old home. She can tell that Clarke is nervous from the way that Clarke doesn’t hold her hand properly in return, rather just allowing Lexa to hold hers.

“I’m fine,” Clarke replies stiffly.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Lexa reminds Clarke. “I can call your mom and tell her that you’re not feeling up to it. We can reschedule for next weekend, or next month, or whenever you’re ready.”

“No,” says Clarke determinedly. Her brows furrow and her jaw locks as she continues, “I’m doing this now. I’m just … scared, I guess. There’s so many memories of  _ him _ in that house.”

Not entirely satisfied that Clarke is one hundred percent okay with what she’s agreed to, Lexa says, “Okay, but you can back out whenever you want. If you don’t want to stay the night then we’ll leave after dinner and go back to mine. Or if you want to go after just five minutes then we will. Don’t feel like you have to do this to please your mom, or me. I’ll deal with her if you want to leave early.”

Clarke’s fingers squeeze Lexa’s in a gesture of thanks.

“You’re the best, Lex.”

Smiling at Clarke’s absentminded use of a nickname, Lexa replies jovially, “I know, that’s why I’m dating you.”

* * *

When they arrive at Abby’s house (Lexa is doing her best to try and think of it as  _ Abby’s house _ and not  _ Clarke’s house _ or even  _ Clarke’s old house _ because tonight is going to be tense enough without Lexa accidentally making an offhand comment that could ruin the entire thing), the front door opens almost as soon as Clarke has lowered her hand from knocking and Lexa wonders just how long Abby has been anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Beside her, Clarke seems slightly taken aback when the door opens so quickly – perhaps she had been hoping for a few more seconds to prepare herself for this moment – and when neither of the Griffin women say anything at first, too busy staring at each other properly for the first time in almost three years, Lexa decides to speak up, so that the whole evening isn’t spent on either side of the front doorstep.

“Hello, Mrs Griffin. Thank you so much for inviting us over.”

Lexa’s words snap Abby out of her trance, and she seems to remember where she is, stepping aside to allow them inside her home.

“Hello, girls! Please come in.”

Feeling Clarke’s eyes on her, Lexa turns her head to find the blonde nibbling at her lower lip again, the worried crease between her eyebrows ever present. Lexa gives Clarke an almost indiscernible nod of her head to remind her girlfriend that she’s right by her side, then gestures for Clarke to enter the house first.

Clarke steps inside, gazing around with wide eyes at her childhood home. As she follows her inside, Lexa watches as Clarke’s eyes fall upon a large photo hanging on the wall at the bottom of the stairs, a professionally taken family photo of Clarke and both her parents in front of a white backdrop. Clarke can’t be more than about six or seven in the photo, her blonde hair almost white in colour and much longer than it is now, tied into two adorable pigtails that hang down over the shoulders of the navy pinafore dress that she wears. A warm smile graces Lexa’s face at the sight of a baby-faced Clarke, and she thinks that maybe next time they are here, she would probably make a few teasing comments to Clarke about her chubby cheeks.

_ Next time they are here _ . Lexa mentally scolds herself for getting ahead and reminds herself that they have a long night to get through first before a next time can even be considered.

When Clarke continues to stare at the photograph with an expression of mild anguish on her face, Lexa’s eyes drift over to the man with his arm wrapped around the young Clarke from behind, and she looks at Jake Griffin for the first time. Her first impression is that he looks a lot like Clarke - the same sparkling blue eyes, the same honest smile – but Lexa can tell, both from the joy in their faces in the photograph and from the way that Clarke stares at his face upon the wall with a kind of sad longing, that he must have had an incredible bond with his daughter.

Not for the first time, Lexa finds herself resenting the set of circumstances that led the beautiful young woman beside her to lose her father so early in life, but this time, with Abby Griffin standing just feet from them in the hallway of the Griffin household, Lexa thinks she can understand more than ever why Clarke might have felt the need to run away.

Tonight is not about the past though, Lexa reminds herself. Tonight is about taking the first step towards fixing things and creating a future.

“It’s so nice to have you back here, Clarke,” Abby speaks up, nervously clasping her hands together in front of her body for just a few seconds, then letting them fall back to her sides. When Clarke’s head snaps up suddenly at her mother’s words, Abby is quick to continue, “Just for the night, of course, but it’s nice all the same.”

The tension in the air is so thick that Lexa thinks they might need an electric power saw to cut through it, and she steps in desperately before things kick off and Clarke can find an excuse to leave.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs Griffin,” she says, gesturing around to what she has seen so far of the Griffin house, every inch of which is spotless and filled with that lingering scent of freshness that comes from a thorough clean. Lexa knows what her own mother is like when they have guests visiting, and she can only imagine how hard Abby must have worked to make sure that the house is perfect for Clarke’s first return here since running away.

“Thank you,” replies Abby, with a smile. She continues, “I know that we met briefly the other day, but it’s nice to properly meet you. You must be Lexa.”

Lexa’s heart stops momentarily as she worries that Abby will mention the conversation exchanged between them over the phone just over a week ago, but thankfully she does nothing of the sort, turning her attention to Clarke, who still stands slightly awkwardly in the centre of the hallway, her feet crossed at the ankle and her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans.

“I’ve made up both your room and the guest room, Clarke,” says Abby. “You can decide between you who sleeps where.”

Speaking for the first time since entering the house, Clarke responds slightly stiffly, “We’ll both sleep in my room.”

Abby falters for just a fraction of a second, so momentarily that Lexa would not have noticed if she were not hyperaware of every little thing that could go wrong, but composes herself quickly and sends a quick nod in Clarke’s direction.

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll give you some time to settle in. We can catch up properly over dinner. I’m making the apple pie that used to be your favourite for dessert, Clarke.”

Hoisting her backpack a little higher up onto her shoulder, Clarke nods slowly then replies slightly awkwardly, “Thanks.” She turns her attention to Lexa and beckons for her to follow her towards the stairs. “Come on, Lexa, I’ll show you to our room.”

As she follows Clarke up the stairs, Lexa finally lets herself properly breathe and wonders how she’s going to be able to make it through the whole night if that was only the first five minutes.

“I take it that she doesn’t yet know that we’re … you know?” Lexa asks, as Clarke closes the door to her old bedroom behind her.

“That we’re dating?” finishes Clarke. She walks slowly around the room, familiarising herself with the room she grew up in, a frown of deep thought on her face as she does so. Lexa leaves her to it, waiting by the door, but she keeps her eyes on Clarke so that she can intervene if anything that Clarke finds triggers her. “No, not yet. I thought I’d tell her at dinner, depending on how it goes.”

“And does she know that you’re bi?”

Clarke sits down on the end of the bed. Well, she  _ perches _ right on the end of it, as if scared that sitting on it properly is too much of a commitment this early into their visit.

“Kind of,” she answers Lexa’s question, before explaining, “I threw it at her in an argument about a week before I left and she told me I was just saying that to be difficult, so I don’t know if she still remembers…”

“But you were only fifteen,” Lexa reminds Clarke, giving her a reassuring smile. “And neither of you were in a good place back then. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”

“And if she’s not, then at least she can’t disown me,” Clarke jokes. “I did a pretty good job of disowning myself already.”

“And if she’s not, then she has  _ me _ to deal with.”

Clarke gets to her feet, the familiar smirk decorating her lips, as she closes the gap between them and seeks out Lexa’s hips with her hands.

“Oh yeah?” she asks Lexa, with a tiny quirk of her eyebrows. “And what are you going to do to her?”

“Shut up,” mumbles Lexa, glancing away in embarrassment.

“Wow,” grins Clarke, dragging the word out in a voice laced with sarcasm. “She’ll be terrified of you.”

“I said shut up,” repeats Lexa, though she raises both arms and drapes them around Clarke’s neck, allowing one of her hands to start playing with Clarke’s unruly hair.

“Make me,” challenges Clarke.

It’s so easy to forget that Clarke has just been teasing her, so easy to use the hands that are already in place to pull Clarke’s mouth into hers, so easy to let her body meld into Clarke’s and the hands on her hips grasp impossibly tighter. Clarke’s mouth fits against Lexa’s with the ease of two lovers who have done this thousands, if not millions, of times before, and yet there’s still that same spark there that was present the very first time they kissed in Lexa’s living room all those weeks ago, a spark of crackling electricity that lights up every nerve in Lexa’s body.

The familiarity of Clarke’s lips on hers does a little to settle the nerves in Lexa’s gut, and she starts to think that just _ maybe _ they’ll be able to make it through tonight without the entire world imploding.

* * *

Despite Clarke’s best attempts, they do not spend the time until they get called down for dinner making out with each other. Lexa eventually manages to summon enough self-restraint to drag her lips away from Clarke’s and instead asks Clarke to show her around the bedroom, partly because she’s hoping that getting Clarke to recall her childhood memories will help her to realise how much she’s missed having her mom in her life, and partly because she’s just full of curiosity about what Clarke was like as a child.

They hit the jackpot in the top of Clarke’s closet, where a faded yellow box pushed right to the back turns out to be full of old mementos; stacks of old artwork dating right back to splodges of paint on a page from kindergarten art classes, photographs of a chubby-cheeked, fair-haired Clarke throughout the ages and, to Lexa’s absolute delight, a tiny yellow onesie that baby Clarke wore in the hospital when she was first born.

There’s a photograph tucked into the folds of the soft garment, one of a baby Clarke wearing the onesie. Lexa chuckles at the sight – baby Clarke’s face is a deep pink colour and her eyes are screwed shut, mouth open as she bawls in her dad’s arms. Jake Griffin wears the expression of a new father, weary and slightly startled by the screeches of the infant in his arms, yet full of love for his newborn daughter.

“God, even back then I was a little shit,” muses Clarke.

Lexa smiles and snakes an arm around Clarke’s back, resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder as she looks down at the photo in Clarke’s hands. She holds the photo with careful fingers, as if scared that letting something happen to the photo will also damage the memory of the man in it.

“I wish I could have met him,” Lexa says softly.

Clarke is quiet for a few moments, before she nods and agrees, “Yeah, me too.”

They are both still, staring down at the photo of baby Clarke and her father, until Clarke finally moves. She doesn’t put the photo back in the box, instead placing it on the top of her dresser for later, and Lexa takes the opportunity to fold the small onesie up into the neat yellow bundle they found it in.

“Oh Jesus Christ, what is  _ this _ ?”

Lexa glances up, setting the onesie aside to be put back in the box later, and finds Clarke holding a child’s piece of artwork – no doubt one of Clarke’s early paintings – at arm’s length with a look of horror on her face.

It’s a painting of a person – of  _ Clarke _ , Lexa quickly realises – and though the eyes are a little lopsided and the hair is more of just a yellow shape framing the face, it’s considerably better than anything Lexa could attempt now, let alone as a child, and it leaves her impressed. Her gaze wanders to the little black scribble in the corner, and her mouth turns up into a smile at the image of a little Clarke spending ages perfecting a signature with the dreams of becoming a world-renowned artist one day.

“Don’t stare at it,” Clarke pouts, giving Lexa a little shove on the shoulder to get her attention. “It’s awful.”

“Now you know how I feel when you’re over at my place,” Lexa teases, before adding sincerely, “and it’s not awful, it’s cute. You’re a way better artist now, anyway.”

It’s a truth that Lexa can speak on good authority, with her own bedroom at home currently scattered with vague sketches that Clarke has done (mostly of her) when she’s been over at Lexa’s house. Clarke’s talent astounds Lexa each time she presents Lexa with a new sketch, each time trying to down play her own skills as an artist by claiming that it’s just a rough drawing done to pass the time, even though Lexa thinks that each scribble contains so much more talent than even the world’s greatest masterpieces.

“You should do a new self-portrait,” Lexa suggests to Clarke.

“Ugh, no way,” Clarke replies, screwing up her nose. “I’m not that vain. Besides, you’re a much better model. Much prettier.”

Lexa blushes in the way that she always does whenever Clarke manages to catch her off guard with a sincere little compliment, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist and pulling her into a tight hug. She rests her chin on Clarke’s shoulder, relaxing into the embrace as Clarke’s arms curl around her back and squeeze her tightly.

“Whatever you say.”

* * *

“So…”

Dinner hasn’t even started yet and it’s already awkward. Lexa searches desperately for something to talk about to fill the uncomfortable silence while Abby sets the table with dishes of steaming food. There’s far too much for just three of them – either Abby wants enough leftovers to feed herself for the next week or she’s trying to win Clarke over with food, and Lexa has strong suspicions that it’s the latter.

The conversation certainly isn’t going to do the job because there  _ isn’t _ any conversation. It’s like neither one of the to Griffin women want to say anything that could send this whole dinner crashing over the edge of the sheer cliff they’re all standing at the top of. Abby’s eyes keep flicking over to Clarke, as if waiting for some kind of reassurance that things are going to be okay, while Clarke’s behaviour is almost  _ worse _ , hovering uncomfortably in the doorway to the dining room while avoiding eye contact with both her mother and Lexa.

“This food looks delicious, Mrs Griffin,” Lexa says as a way to fill the increasingly uncomfortable void of silence that cloaks the room.

“Thank you, Lexa,” smiles Abby, shoulders relaxing visibly in relief now that  _ one _ of them has had the human decency to try and save this dinner. “Can I get you girls a drink? Orange juice? Soda?” Abby pauses, then finishes, “Wine?”

“Just water is fine for me,” replies Lexa.

“Clarke?”

Clarke moves slightly further into the room, her hands both nestled in the front pockets of her jeans, before she grunts out, “Yeah, same.”

Abby disappears back into the kitchen in a bit of a fluster and Lexa crosses over to Clarke, where she puts her hand on Clarke’s arms and steers her towards the laden table.

“I know this is hard,” Lexa whispers so that Abby can’t hear her in the next room, “but can you try to make a  _ bit _ of an effort?”

“Fine,” shrugs Clarke. “It’s just weird, that’s all. Being back here.”

“I get that,” Lexa nods understandingly. “I’m here for you, okay? Anything you want – anything you  _ need _ – to make this a little easier and I’m here to help you.”

When Abby returns, three tall glasses of water in her hands which she distributes to each of the places set at the table, Clarke takes a seat and clears her throat, getting both Lexa and Abby’s attention as she gets ready to speak.

“Mom, I want this out there before we start eating,” she says, her words directed at Abby though she looks to Lexa for reassurance. Lexa isn’t entirely sure where Clarke is going with this, or what she wants her mother to know before they tuck into the delicious meal that Abby has prepared for them, but she smiles warmly in Clarke’s direction, encouraging her to share whatever it is. Clarke’s hands scrabbles across the table and her fingers tangle with Lexa’s, before she concludes, “Lexa is my girlfriend.”

There’s a stagnant pause, a long moment in which Abby’s eyes flit back and forth between the two girls, gradually widening as she takes in this new piece of information and what it means. With the delay before a response, Lexa worries that Clarke is going to speak up next, her words an unwanted aggression as she demands that Abby accepts them in order for tonight to be a success.

Thankfully Clarke remains quiet and Abby soon gains enough composure to give Clarke’s coming out the response that it deserves.

“I … I didn’t want to make any assumptions, but …” Abby says, and Lexa wonders if Abby has always known the nature of their relationship, even since the secret phonecall that Lexa made to her. “Clarke, I’m really sorry that I didn’t take you seriously when you told me about your sexuality before. I realise now that it probably had a hand in pushing you away.”

Lexa breathes a sigh of relief. In terms of Abby’s reaction to the situation, she doesn’t think that she could imagine a way for it to go better. Not only has Abby accepted their relationship and what it means for her daughter’s sexuality, but she’s actively apologising for mistakes made three years ago at a time when both their lives were burdened with grief.

“Well it didn’t exactly make me want to stay,” Clarke agrees begrudgingly.

“And I’m sorry about that. You and Lexa seem very close. Though I wish that I could have had you here for the last three years, I’m glad that you’ve found somebody like Lexa to care for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs Griffin,” Lexa speaks up. “It means a lot to both of us to have your blessing.”

“I think I lost the right to give Clarke my blessing a long time ago,” says Abby, her voice tinged with sadness.

Lexa opens her mouth to say something in response, but it is Clarke who gets there first.

“Yeah, well,” says Clarke, her voice a little gravelly, “I think we both have things that we regret.”

Lexa’s heart swells with pride upon hearing Clarke’s words. She can’t believe how much Clarke has changed in such a short space of time, how much she’s matured from the girl who even just a week ago wanted to have nothing to do with her estranged mother. Yet here she is now, not only having a civil conversation with Abby, but making an active effort to try and put the past behind them so that they can repair their damaged relationship.

“I actually have something to tell you too,” says Abby, and her demeanour changes, nervously pushing the vegetables around her plate with her fork without actually eating anything. “I’m seeing somebody.”

Lexa’s gaze jumps to Clarke, searching for a reaction. But Clarke doesn’t react, instead just stares at the food on her plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, her expression hardened and void of any kind of emotion.

“His name is Marcus and we’ve been together for about six months,” continues Abby, when Clarke says nothing. “I still miss your father every day, and I’m not trying to replace him with Marcus, but…”

“Dad’s been gone three years,” Clarke interrupts, finally speaking up as she lifts her head to look at her mother. Her voice is a little raspy, like the words are forced, but she doesn’t seem to be angry or upset at Abby’s news. “You’re allowed to not want to be alone.”

“That’s … that’s really mature of you to say that, Clarke,” responds Abby, relaxing visibly. “Marcus is very understanding of everything that has happened and he makes me very happy.”

Clarke says nothing, pushing her food around her plate with her fork without actuallyeating any of it, and Lexa can’t help but wonder what is going through Clarke’s mind.

Abby scrabbled for something to save the conversation and asks, “So how did you two meet?”

She brings a forkful of food to her mouth and starts chewing slowly as her eyes flit between Clarke and Lexa.

“At the bus stop, actually,” Clarke answers quickly. “Lexa goes to the girls’ school.”

“You’re at Polis Academy?” asks Abby, her attention turning fully to Lexa as the raised eyebrows express her surprise.

“I’m a junior at the moment,” explains Lexa. “A year below Clarke so I didn’t know her until recently.”

_ I didn’t know her when it all happened _ . Lexa doesn’t say it, but it’s heavily implied.

Nodding, Abby turns to look at Clarke once more, before she asks, “And dare I ask about school for you, Clarke?”

“I go,” shrugs Clarke. “Sometimes.”

Lexa reaches across the table as rests her hand over Clarke’s.

“Stop playing yourself down, Clarke,” she says. “You’ve been trying really hard recently. Why don’t you tell your mom about your college plans?”

Clarke swallows her food, and then says, “I want to go to art school.”

She phrases it almost like a question, like she’s seeking Abby’s approval for the plans she has for her own future.

“Art school? That’s great, Clarke! Your dad would be so proud.”

Lexa notices the little flush that rises to Clarke’s cheeks and she knows that no matter how much she might try to downplay it, making her father proud is always going to motivate her to sort her life out.

“She got accepted into a summer art course.,” Lexa tells Abby, smiling warmly at Clarke to convey her own pride. “They’re going to help her put together a portfolio so that she can start making applications in the fall.”

“Your old art stuff is all still upstairs,” Abby says to Clarke. “I … I don’t know where you’re living at the moment, but if you want to take some of it with you when you leave then be my guest.”

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then replies a little stiffly, “Thank you.”

“And what about you, Lexa? Do you have any plans for the future?”

* * *

They make it through dinner,  _ barely _ . Lexa is relieved when Abby dismisses their offer to help with the washing up after dinner, and when she tells them that they can go back up to Clarke’s rom if they’d like, Lexa suspects that she’s just as in need of a break from it all as the girls are.

It’s not that it’s going badly, in fact Lexa would go as far as to say that it’s going much better than anticipated, but the whole affair is just so uncomfortable that it’s making Lexa’s skin prickle. Everything is said with such a forced politeness, every sentence so carefully constructed so as to avoid the possibility of drama at all, and as a result it all feels very contrived.

She’s glad that they’re here though. Despite the tension, Lexa can sense Clarke feeling slightly less animosity towards her mother with each second that passes, and if they have to go through another hundred dinners like this for Clarke to fully forgive her mother and accept her back into her life, then Lexa will gladly stand by Clarke’s side as they do exactly that.

Clarke, however, doesn’t seem to think that things are going quite as well.

“She likes you more than she likes me,” Clarke pouts as soon as the bedroom door closes behind them.

“That’s ridiculous,” Lexa dismisses Clarke’s statement, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “She loves you.”

“She loves  _ you _ ,” Clarke insists. “She wishes you were her daughter instead of me.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lexa tells Clarke, her fingers running up and down Clarke’s spine through her cotton t-shirt, tracing the ridges of the bones beneath her skin. “You have to remember that she hasn’t seen you in three years. It’s going to be weird to start with.”

Clarke shrugs as much as she can in Lexa’s embrace, resting her sad head on Lexa’s shoulder.

“I guess I was just expecting it to be the same as it was before Dad died.” Clarke pauses, then continues in a croakier voice, “But it’s not.”

“You know I’m really proud of you, don’t you?” Lexa turns her head slightly and presses a lingering kiss against the side of Clarke’s head, nuzzling her face into the soft hair that hides her neck and cascades over her shoulder.

“You are?” asks Clarke, a trace of vulnerability in her voice that has Lexa tightening her arms around Clarke’s back.

“Of course I am,” assures Lexa. “You phoned your mom up yourself and agreed to spend the night here, nobody told you to do that. I know how hard that must have been for you, and how weird it must be for you to be here now after three years pretending that everything is okay and I’m proud of you for trying to put the past behind you. And do you know what? I don’t care if you decide you want to move back in here tomorrow, or if you decide that you can’t fix things with your mom and never want to see her again, because at least you’ve tried.”

Clarke says nothing, and it is only after several long seconds of silence that Lexa feels the body in her arms tremble ever so slightly, and she realises that Clarke is crying.  


“Hey, shhh. It’s okay, Clarke. I’ve got you.”

As she tries to comfort that shaking girl in her arms, Lexa wonders whether Clarke ever lets herself properly cry. Probably not, she realises with a lurch deep within her chest that almost has her shedding tears along with the blonde, because it kills Lexa to think of Clarke bottling up her feelings and compensating with a show of false bravado just so that she doesn’t appear weak in front of her friends.

“That’s it,” Lexa attempts to calm Clarke down. “Let it out. It feels good to cry, doesn’t it?”

Clarke nods and sniffles into Lexa’s neck.

“Thank you,” she chokes out. “Thank you for coming here with me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Lexa replies softly. “You know I’d do anything you asked me to.”

Clarke shifts in Lexa’s arms and she loosens her tight embrace, allowing Clarke the space she needs to wipe away the dampness around her eyes.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” she tells Lexa, her glistening blue eyes full of sincerity. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” responds Lexa honestly. As Clarke leaves her embrace fully and lets herself drop exhaustedly onto the bed, Lexa asks, “Do you want to cuddle?”

Clarke nods wordlessly, and Lexa bends down to pick up their overnight bags, unzipping her own and pulling out the pair of soft cotton pyjamas she’s packed for herself.

“What are you sleeping in?” she asks Clarke.

“There’s a t-shirt and a pair of boxers in there somewhere. Give it here.”

Clarke takes out her own sleepwear and they change quickly and silently, before slipping under the covers. Clarke immediately snuggles into Lexa’s side, resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder, an arm wrapped tightly around Lexa’s waist and one of her bare legs slung over Lexa’s hip. It’s endearing, the way that Clarke wraps herself around Lexa like a panda clinging to a tree, though a little saddening to see the usually so brazen girl in such a vulnerable state, and Lexa peppers the top of Clarke’s head with kisses to remind her how much she’s loved.

Not wanting to provoke any more tears, but knowing that it’s important to encourage Clarke not to bottle up any feelings she may have in the immediate aftermath of the dinner with Abby, Lexa tentatively asks, “Are you okay about her seeing this Marcus guy?”

Clarke lets out a sigh, and then replies, “Does it matter if I’m not?”

“Of course it does!” Lexa assures her.

“No,” Clarke clarifies, “I mean that she isn’t going to stop seeing him because I don’t want her to move on from my dad.”

“Maybe not,” Lexa hums in agreement, “but I’m sure she’d at least listen to anything you had to say on the matter.”

Clarke makes a thoughtful noise and then replies to Lexa’s original question, “I’m … I’m surprisingly okay with it. I mean, I haven’t met the guy yet but she seems happy. If that’s because of him then I’m not going to complain.”

Lexa brushes a few of Clarke’s stray hairs out of her face and then kisses the girl’s now exposed forehead, wordlessly expressing how proud she is of Clarke.

“You know,” muses Clarke, “this is the first time we’re properly sharing a bed.”

They’ve slept beside each other before, or rather they’ve slept pretty much on top of each other on Raven and Bellamy’s couch on a few occasions, and there was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Lexa’s room after a particularly busy week where the two of them just passed out from exhaustion for a couple of hours. But it’s never been like this before. It’s never been a whole night in a  _ bed _ .

It’s like a slumber party, Lexa decides, or at least that’s what she tells herself to try and calm the persistent pounding of her heart at the thought of having an entire night next to Clarke, whose smooth legs exposed by the skimpy boxers she’s wearing to bed are already proving to be quite the distraction. A slumber party, only there’s just the two of them, and the other person is Clarke, and Lexa is going to have to spend the whole night beside her whilst trying to keep her hands to herself because Abby will be sleeping just down the corridor.

Clarke, it seems, has other ideas.

“Who knows when we’ll have the opportunity again?”

Clarke swings her leg over Lexa’s hips properly, straddling her and leaning forward so that her hands rest on either side of Lexa’s head. Her face, now hovering just inches above Lexa’s own, wears a mischievous smirk that Lexa is all too familiar with.

Ignoring the dull ache that starts to make an appearance between her thighs, Lexa sighs, “Clarke, we are not having sex for the first time with your mom just across the hall. We’re here to make amends with her, not to antagonise her further.”

Clarke rolls off Lexa with a huff, dramatically collapsing onto the mattress beside her. Lexa immediately cuddles into Clarke, reversing their positions from earlier as she wraps two strong arms around her and nuzzles into her neck.

“Clarke, I want you too, but not here, okay? Not tonight.”

Turning her head to look Lexa in the eyes, Clarke replies, “I know.”

“Soon, okay?” Lexa promises. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I know,” repeats Clarke. “I wasn’t just talking about sex though. It’ll be nice to sleep beside each other in a proper bed for once.”

Lexa smiles fondly at Clarke’s words, subconsciously tightening her embrace around the other girl. It’s mostly her fault that they haven’t had an opportunity like this so far, or at least her mother’s fault, because despite Lexa being the one out of the two of them that actually has her own bed for them to share, Lexa’s mother has been insistent on both occasions that Clarke has stayed the night that they sleep in separate beds. It’s frustrating for them both, but Clarke, always eager to remain in Lexa’s mom’s good books, has been happy to oblige the request that she sleeps in the guest room without a complaint.

“Sorry about my mom’s rules,” she says aloud.

“Don’t be,” replies Clarke. “Your mom is a babe. Mine would act the same if she wasn’t trying to get back on my good side. Anyway, one day we’ll be sleeping beside each other every night and none of this will even matter anymore.”

It’s the first time that either of them has ever spoken about a future between them, and though Lexa, as completely smitten as she is with her girlfriend, obviously likes to imagine a forever that involves Clarke by her side (she doesn’t want to own up to just how many hours of school in the last few weeks have been spent daydreaming with a smile on her face at the thought of spending the rest of her life with Clarke), it takes her aback slightly that the first mention of this relationship potentially being _it_ for the two of them is an offhand remark from Clarke.

“You keep making comments like that and I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself,” says Lexa, as a way of deflecting the conversation away from the deep feelings she has for Clarke before she accidentally ends up confessing her love for the girl in her arms.

“Ha!” Clarke grins gleefully, and the hand that is tracing circles on Lexa’s back beneath the hem of her shirt dips lower towards the curve of Lexa’s ass. “That was my plan all along.”

“ _ Clarke. _ ”

“Sorry”, mumbles Clarke, and she moves her hand back to a more respectable position, with Lexa momentarily mourning its loss.

After a few moments of silence, in which Lexa finds herself dreaming of a point in the future when they have a bed that is not Clarke’s or Lexa’s but  _ theirs _ , with not only the luxury of sleeping beside each other every night, but of waking up together, of lazy weekend mornings wrapped in each other’s arms, of late nights touching each other over and over again beneath the covers.

It’s that last thought that has a little flush rising to Lexa’s cheeks, and she is grateful that Clarke chooses to speak up and provide a distraction.

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

Digging a finger into the skin just beneath Clarke’s ribs and eliciting a little yelp from the girl, Lexa replies, “Just cuddle me.”

* * *

“Thank you so much for having us, Mrs Griffin!”

Breakfast was a mild improvement on the previous night’s dinner, with all three of them having had a night to sleep on the reunion and process everything that has changed since the last time that Clarke and Abby were involved in each other’s lives. Clarke woke up in a much better mood than she had been in the night before, and Lexa is fairly certain that her reluctance to get out of bed had nothing to do with not wanting to face her mom again and was instead because she didn’t want to have to pry herself from Lexa’s arms after a delightful night of cuddles and soft kisses.

But now it’s time for the two girls to leave, and with the uncertainty of whether Clarke will want to see her mother again hanging in the air, it’s almost more tense now than it was at dinner last night.

“You’re welcome here anytime, Lexa,” smiles Abby, and when her eyes flicker anxiously across to Clarke, who stares down at the boots she’s scuffing against the doorstep as a distraction, Lexa knows that the invitation is meant for both of them.

“Clarke?” says Lexa, nudging her hand against Clarke’s to get her girlfriend’s attention.

Clarke’s head snaps up, her eyes wide as she looks between Lexa and Abby, before she finally mumbles, “Yeah, thanks.”

“No, thank  _ you _ Clarke for giving me a second chance.”

Clarke shrugs, and then says, “Nobody is themselves when they’ve lost somebody they love. And I know that you didn’t…” Clarke trails off and looks away, and Lexa tangles her fingers with Clarke’s and gives them an encouraging squeeze, before Clarke concludes, “I know that it’s not your fault he’s gone.”

Lexa is suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that she shouldn’t be here, that she’s interrupting a moment between a mother and daughter who need a private moment without the presence of another person stopping them from reconnecting after years apart. Lexa wonders for a second if Clarke and Abby are going to run into each other’s arms with tears streaming down their faces, gushing out apologies and promises to never treat the other like they did again.

And then the moment is gone.

“Well, bye, I guess,” shrugs Clarke, glancing up at Abby and taking a step away from the house and towards the road.

“Goodbye, Clarke,” says Abby, her eyes shining with tears. “It’s been really nice to see you again. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Same,” says Clarke. “I’ll … I’ll call you again sometime.”

“I’d really like that,” nods Abby. “Bye, girls.”

With their hands still linked, Clarke leads Lexa down the drive and onto the sidewalk, hearing the soft click of Abby closing the front door behind them.

“Can we go to yours?” asks Clarke, letting out a weary sigh. “I need a fucking nap.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and talk to me about this fic on tumblr [@almostafantasia](http://almostafantasia.tumblr.com) because I'm really excited for the rest of this story.


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